Green Grove A Fanstory
by Mary Aseltyne
Summary: A young woman wakes up in a strange place after a car accident.
1. Chapter 1

**Green Grove**

_(a LOTR fanstory)_

By: Mary Aseltyne

Beta: Malinorne

Time line: Now

Rating/Warnings: K+ Some descriptions of physical injuries, but nothing bloody.

Summary: A young woman wakes up in a strange place after a car accident.

Disclaimer: I do not claim to have created any Tolkien character named in this story, and I dare anyone to sue me over this one.

**Chapter one**

"Wake up, dear, stay with me now," the woman's voice said, again, and it was a peculiar voice. Friendly yet persistent, excited yet not hysterical, rushed and yet repeating the same thing over and over. The bed was shaking, too, how irritating. There were other sounds beside the voice, which were unrecognizable at first and slowly became clearer.

"I'm awake," she muttered, again. How many times had she said it? Hundreds of times? Thousands? This must be a fever dream or something very like one.

She could hear a high-pitched wailing sound, the crackle of what seemed to be radio static, and a dull roaring noise underneath it all. Other voices, male voices, were talking, too. Through closed eyelids she could tell that colorful lights were flashing. Someone was holding her hand...? And then, the pain would return.

Down her left side, from her shoulder to her toes, a wrenching, tortuous spasm of fire would sizzle if she woke up too much. It made her feel woozy.

"No, it hurts." And then the dive back down into the darkness and the quiet. Blissful darkness, merciful quiet, but always it was only temporary.

"Wake up, dear, stay awake now."

"No, please, it hurts." She tried to turn her head, it would not move. "Please make it stop."

There was something over her mouth, something that muffled her voice, no wonder no one could hear her. She tried to remove it because if they heard her then they would make the bed stop shaking and leave her alone.

"Don't move your arms." Gentle hands restrained her. "Hold on, we're almost there," said the woman's voice. "Open your eyes and let me see those baby blues."

"They aren't blue, they're brown." But no one could hear her, so why try? Time to dive back down into the darkness, ah that was better.

"Wake up, I need you to wake up now," said the woman. "Stay with me."

"No, I won't." Stay with her? There had to be some way to escape.

The bed finally stopped shaking and the wailing noise was gone, but it was only a momentary relief. Now the bed was being jolted and lifted, there were brighter lights beyond her squeezed-tight shut eyelids, clattering noises, and shouting voices. Fresh pain shot through her body.

"Make it stop!" But no one could hear her scream because no sound came out of her mouth, just air. It was like a nightmare, only this was not a dream, this was real.

Now she did want to wake up and stay awake, no matter how much it hurt, if only to somehow get away from whatever it was that was holding her down, they felt like straps. Her eyes would not open; something was making her feel paralyzed, like a voice, or maybe music, was that possible?

Everything changed. She felt nice and normally sleepy, with no more pain, or jarring, or shaking, or lights. Her attempt to scream must have drained her and it had all been replaced by a soft blurry fogginess with an occasional chiming sound, and she slept.

"Wake up, Krystle." A new voice, no more 'dears', and as clear as a bell, no more wailing or static or roaring background noise, said her name. And when she opened her eyes, a complete stranger was staring down at her. A woman or a man? "Don't worry, you're safe." It was a woman. But she had short, short hair and wore something odd around her neck. A stethoscope?

"What? Who are you? What are you doing?" Krystle tried to sit up, completely disoriented, groggy, and frightened. There were tubes in her nose, now, but whatever it was that had covered her mouth was gone. What was happening? Her arms were not strapped down anymore, either; the left one was a dull throb of pain. She tried to feel whatever it was that was choking her throat like a too thick turtleneck sweater.

"I am trying to help you. Don't move your head, it might be dangerous. We have to take a picture of your neck first, and you need to keep this arm still, okay?" The woman wore a lilac-colored jacket over a pale rose blouse that somehow still had a clinical appearance in style, despite the pastel shades.

She tapped on Krystle's left arm; it was stiff, strapped to something hard that kept it immobile. Her other arm had a tube attached to it, which was in turn attached to a clear plastic bag with fluid that dripped out slowly, and something was clamped, but not too tight that it hurt, on her index finger.

"Be still and try to relax, I need to look at your pupils," said the woman, who must be a nurse, or maybe she was a doctor. Now that she was close enough, Krystle could see a name badge on her blouse with a small red cross on it. It was just a blur as a tiny penlight was shone into her eyes. "You were found unconscious on scene and I want to make sure that you don't have a concussion."

"What happened?" Her world was beginning to make sense again. This was some type of hospital, which was obvious now, from the standard green-hued curtains that surrounded her narrow cot-like bed, to the overhead light that seemed as bright as the sun. The chiming sound resolved itself into the sound from some type of monitor close by.

An ambulance must have brought her here, and that explained the shaking bed, the wailing siren, and the lights, of course. There was something else that she was forgetting, or trying to remember, what was it? But it escaped her.

"There was a thirty car pileup on Five with a big rig explosion thrown in, a real mess," said the nurse as she examined each eye. "Tule fog. You're one of the lucky ones." After setting the penlight down, she felt Krystle's head and face while she spoke. "You look pretty good, does your head hurt?" She touched a tender spot and Krystle winced.

"A little," she answered, confused. None of that was what she was trying to remember. 'Five' referred to the interstate highway, numbered five, which was the road she had been driving on.

A mist was just beginning to creep over the blacktop, she could also remember that much, right at sundown after she had finally reached the freeway. She did not recall, however, that it was a 'tule' fog, coming from the nearby marshlands in the central valley.

That particular type of fog was legendary for being the most dangerous kind. It literally blinded drivers because it was too thick to see through and could draw an opaque blanket of solid grayness over a windshield in a matter of seconds.

A pile-up was always bad, cars with blinded drivers crashing into other cars with blinded drivers that were crashing into other cars, and on and on. It was something that every seasoned driver in California feared to find themselves involved in.

"Are you a doctor?"

"These days, I'm what's called a 'lump'," answered the woman with a shake of her head and a rueful chuckle. "Nice, huh? The official title is Licensed Urgent Medicine Practitioner, L-U-M-P, lump." She shook her head again, as if she could not believe she was saying it. "Call me Netty, please."

"Where am I?"

"Right now you are in the Green Grove Urgent Care Clinic, we caught some of the overflow." Now Netty was feeling Krystle's arms, legs, belly, pausing only to ask if this or that hurt, while she continued speaking. "And you are lucky I am here tonight; the regular docs usually don't get anything in here more severe than sunburns and poison-oak rashes this time of year."

Krystle had never heard of a place called Green Grove before in her life, but she had never been this far north in the state either. She was returning home, to Chula Vista, after visiting the campus of a small private school in a suburb near Sacramento, to apply for a teaching position. There was something tickling the edge of her mind again, as she thought back as far as she could, but it slipped away again.

"I don't... remember anything about being in an accident."

"That is normal; you had a big shock, and maybe broke more than just your arm. I think your insides are just fine, though." A thermometer was thrust under Krystle's tongue. "If you do remember at all, the events might come back in small snatches, but it is more likely that bump on your head means you had a minor concussion and that can wipe out any short term memory."

Netty was no-nonsense in her manner but smiled brightly and spoke gently. Krystle stayed still and answered questions about what day it was and the name of the President of the United States. While she did so, Netty felt her pulse and used a blood pressure cuff, and the more clinical things that she did to her, the less afraid Krystle felt.

Her left arm was in a splint, Krystle was informed, and her neck was in a brace. Her shoes were removed and she could feel her toes being wiggled and manipulated, which made her send up a silent prayer of gratitude.

"How long was I unconscious?"

"The paramedics said it was only for a few minutes, but that you kept drifting in and out on the way here," answered Netty, cheerfully, as if that should be good news. "They were answering another call and saw you get hit."

"Oh, wow, I remember that," said Krystle, feeling a bit embarrassed now as she recalled the ride here, and her attempts to escape from what felt like a nightmare.

"I will be right back," Netty promised. "I want pictures of your neck before we take that brace off. Your left arm is broken, but I want good pictures of that, and the rest of your left side, too."

"Pictures?" Asked Krystle.

"X-rays. While I go tell radiology to set up for you, the clerk wants to ask you some questions to get your chart started for me."

"Can I make a phone call?"

"Sure can," answered Netty. "We'll get one in here after your x-rays are done."

Despite the promise, it seemed to take hours to finally get a phone in her hands. After the 'pictures' were taken, and were being assessed, Krystle had some blood drawn. Next, the tube in her arm and the neck brace were removed, although a soft collar was put on to replace the latter. There were stitches to be put in her scalp and a cast on her arm, also. Every part of her body seemed to hurt worse, when it was all over with, than when she had first arrived.

She had plenty of time to think about whom she would call when the time came.

Unfortunately, the people Krystle wanted to see the most, her parents, were out of town, visiting friends of theirs who lived out of the country. No one was expecting her home, which meant no one would be worried, at least, and that was some small comfort. Other family members that she considered might not be awake, it was getting so late now. But she had to try them anyway, how else would she get home? No one picked up.

The only other person likely to answer the phone that she could think of, and who would be willing to drive this far, wherever this place was, this late at night, was her best friend, but she got a busy signal when she tried. Netty returned with some pain medication that looked like ordinary aspirin to Krystle.

"No narcotics for you," explained Netty. "Not with a head bump. Did you reach your folks?"

"No one's up," said Krystle, with a sigh, and hung up the funny little portable phone that had been brought to her bedside and plugged into a socket in the wall. "Or they are talking to someone else."

"You are going to be moved to an observation room now anyway, and you will have a regular phone, and a more comfortable bed."

"Observation?" That sounded serious and here Krystle had thought her injuries were not very severe. Uncomfortable, yes, but certainly not life-threatening.

"Standard procedure with head and neck injuries, even mild ones. That means you can't leave until morning, anyway. Maybe you can get some sleep, first." For the first time since she had realized where she was, Krystle thought of her own bedroom at home. A real pang of homesickness washed over her and she wished desperately, and in vain, that she was there, instead of here.

"Chips!" Krystle cried out suddenly as she attempted to leap down from her bed, only to be stopped by Netty. At last, the nagging thought that had been trying to get her attention all night had finally come clear. "Oh no! I forgot about Chips!"

"Whoa, whoa, take it easy," said Netty. "Don't be jumping up like that. Are you that hungry? I can get you some chips."

"No, no, no." Krystle was distraught and frantic now. "I mean my dog, Chips, that's her name. She was in the car with me. Oh, god, what happened to her? Do you know?"

Krystle was calmed down and taken to her observation room while phone calls were made to the ambulance service. The missing Chips was located. She was spending the night, as an honored guest, in the local jail, and had been taken there by a deputy who was also a volunteer fireman, after having been brought along in the ambulance to the urgent care center by one of the paramedics. Most amazing, she had not bitten anyone.

There were small televisions attached to the wall next to each bed in Krystle's observation room, which was more like a ward than the private cubicle that she had imagined. She was not alone, either, for there were several other victims of the pile-up who had been brought in. There were nurses here, too, dressed in buttery yellow smocks, who sat a desk in the center of the room to monitor them.

Next to Krystle was a chatty teenage girl, with one foot and both hands swaddled in bandages, who giggled constantly at an older woman across from them who snored in her sleep. There was not much to watch on television; Green Grove was apparently not wired to cable and the choices were limited. Not much besides a few local network running stale reruns of boring shows with long commercial breaks, and the two of them sat up and talked instead of resting.

The easily amused girl's name was Stacey, and she was a high school student who had been in a bus returning from a football game when the pile-up happened. Her hands and foot had first degree burns, but should heal fast, she was told.

"I'm in the pep band," Stacey explained. "Clarinet." She lifted her bandages, "I hope these are better by next Friday, but at least I didn't hurt my mouth."

Stacey hated a boy named Charles and loved her band teacher, Mrs. Myers, and worried long and loud about her best friend, Lizzie, another clarinet player, who had been taken to a different hospital because her burns were worse. Her own parents had already been by and were staying in a local motel to wait for her release in the morning. She had a mild head injury, too. No stitches. Krystle could barely get a word in edgewise.

"Do you know what the worst part is?" Stacey asked, apropos of nothing, and not waiting for Krystle to answer, replied to her own question. "Waking up after a car wreck and not being in Middle-earth."

"You're right!" Krystle was tickled to find another Lord of the Rings fan so close at hand. "This sucks! If you take the trouble to drive into a perfectly good fog, then blam!" She pounded her bed with a mock-angry fist. "You should be there."

"Lothlorien," offered Stacey, dreamy eyed. "Just imagine it. Waited on hand and foot by beautiful elves."

"Ick, no," said Krystle, holding her palm up like a stop sign. "Mirkwood for me, or nowhere." She was suddenly weary, and still achy despite the medicine, and she had to lie down. "Maybe if we fall asleep now, we will wake up there."

Stacey giggled in reply at the thought and then declared that she could never fall asleep in a strange bed, so that would never work.

"Me either," said Krystle, yawning. "Besides, I have to go get my dog out of jail, first, anyway."

Stacey giggled for a long long while over that.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter two**

"I don't understand," Krystle said as she hung up the phone with a little more force than necessary. "No one even had an answering machine on for me to leave a message, it doesn't make any sense."

"It's the phones here, I bet," offered Stacey. "They look really old fashioned."

It was true, they were the clunky kind that had a rotary dial and a detached handset, with a spiral cord that instantly tangled itself into a knot. Krystle had to ask for help with dialing because she only had one hand to hold the handset with; the soft collar she wore prevented her from cradling it at her neck, and each time she tried to spin the dial, the phone would scoot away from her.

"That doesn't make sense either, the phone lines should all work the same."

"You never know, it could be that these antique phones can't reach all the way to the coast." Stacey had never used a phone with a rotary dial instead of buttons to push. And no redial feature.

Although Krystle had tried to stay cheerful; now she was starting to get worried. According to what the ambulance crew told the admitting clerk, her car had been badly damaged, and was not drivable. Totaled. And that was not the worst of it.

Her purse was still inside it, with her insurance company information, not to mention her cell phone and credit cards. What was left of her car was probably towed somewhere by now and she did not look forward to coping with that, too, by herself. At least Chips was safe, somewhere, and that was a relief.

"That is so cool about your dog, Chips," sighed Stacey, as if she was a mind-reader. "What if she got left in your car? That paramedic who brought her along in the ambulance must be a real great guy, huh?"

Together, she and Krystle speculated over the gallantry and therefore assumed handsomeness of Chips' rescuer. They decided that he just had to be nice looking to perform such a heroically good deed. A regular knight in shining armor type. It felt good to talk about something else besides the accident.

"If I ever get a chance to meet him in person," announced Krystle, already infatuated, "I am going to kiss him, I swear!"

"Then I hope he's cute!" Stacey giggled. "Because I want to kiss him, too!"

A nurse came around at regular intervals to check pulses, temperatures, and blood pressures all around the observation ward. At these times, Krystle and Stacey pretended to be resting, as ordered, but as soon as the rounds were through, they continued to chat through the night.

"I have never been in a hospital before," said Stacey. "Are they always like this? Sheesh, if I was trying to sleep then she would have woken me up like twice so far. They call this rest?"

For probably the first time since she was brought to her observation bed, Krystle took a good look around her. There was nothing unusual about the place, it seemed quite clinical, if spare. There were not a lot of high tech gadgets or monitors, but the beds were comfortable and the floors were clean.

"This isn't a hospital, its some sort of clinic," she said. "Urgent care. Have you ever been here before, to Green Grove?"

"No, and neither have my parents, they were both complaining that they couldn't see much of the area when they got here because of the fog. They were following the bus I was in, but they never got in a wreck, so they followed the ambulance here. When I finally got to talk to them, Dad said he never drove in fog so thick before and that he wouldn't have been able to find his way here again without a map and a compass."

"You know what that means, don't you?" Krystle paused for suspense and then stage-whispered, "Maybe we really are in Middle-earth?

"Ooh, don't say that!" Stacey covered her mouth, as if the information was so shocking that she might shriek. Then, after glancing around the room, she whispered back, "Wouldn't it be so cool if that paramedic who rescued your dog was really an elf?"

"Only if he looks just like Legolas, but then I would never stop kissing him."

"Think about it. Elves love animals, and that's why your dog never bit him!"

"You two are Tolkien fans?" It was the nurse again, but she was carrying a tray with some glasses of water, ice gently tinkled inside of them, which she held out for them to take one each.

"Sort of," answered Stacey. "I love the movies, but I never read the books. I tried, honest."

"Well, you will probably get a kick out of this, then. Green Grove is famous for three things," said the nurse, proudly. "The first being that we are in the middle of the last stand of old growth fir in Northern California, the second is our hot springs, and the third is that Professor Tolkien had a vacation home here during his last years of life."

"Awesome," breathed Stacey. "He had a house here?"

"No, not a house, it's just a small log cabin out in the woods. Cute, too. It's a museum now, of sorts. And I guess you could say its famous with people who know people who know about it."

"Why did Tolkien come here to visit?" asked Krystle, a bit star-struck. "Because of the trees or was it for the hot springs?"

"I'm not really sure, but I think the story goes that he came to visit one year and fell in love with the place. A lot of people do that. Come here to visit and never leave."

"Wow," Stacey shifted her eyes to Krystle and nodded knowingly as she spoke. "Just like Lothlorien."

"Green Grove is famous?" For herself, Krystle was skeptical. "I've never heard of this place and I lived in California my whole life."

"They say that true Tolkien fans, the real fanatical ones, eventually hear about this place, but it is the rare individual who actually tries to find us. Green Grove isn't on any maps. Other people hear about the trees or the hot springs by word of mouth."

It turned out, according to the nurse, that there was nothing mystical about not being easy to locate. In order to be listed on a standard map, a town or village as small as Green Grove had to have a post office. They had none.

"We share a post office with the next town over," she explained. "So we don't miss having one."

Most of the people the nurse had ever known to visit there were not necessarily considered world renowned celebrities. Writers, linguists, scholars, and the like. They made a pilgrimage, she told them, to visit the little cabin because Tolkien had left a lot of interesting notes and drawings in a desk there that were on display to the public.

"The Professor died right before the college-age kids went nuts over The Hobbit, in the early nineteen-seventies that would have been, and we were flooded with visitors from all over the world for a while who had hunted us down."

"I would love to see that cabin," said Stacey to Krystle, after the informative nurse had left their bedsides, her tray load of water glasses making a sound like wind chimes as she distributed them around to other sleepless patients. "I bet elves live near it."

"My achy body would love to be in that hot spring pool," groaned Krystle; her whole left side hurt. She was one big bruise from her ribs down to her hip, which she saw when they put her in a gown, and she could feel every single inch of it.

They gave her a wrap-around type of gown, made of the same fabric as her sheets and pillowcase, that tied at her side instead of in the back. It was much more modest than the usual hospital garb, although not much more stylish. She had to get rid of her underwear in the restroom, after struggling to pull them back up, without success, with only one arm that worked and a collar around her neck that tried to strangle her while she was at it.

"Too bad I have a cast on my arm, or I would check out of here right now and go jump in the nearest one, have you ever been in a hot springs pool? They are like a spa, only stinky." Now, although she did not say it out loud, Krystle wished she had asked for more pain medication when the nurse was there, but she did not want to sound like a big baby at the time. Especially in front of Stacey, who was enough her junior to make her feel responsible to be a good role model.

"You could just hold your arm up out of the water," said Stacey. "You're lucky you don't have a full body cast." She proceeded to tell Krystle all about a friend of hers who had to wear a body cast, in the middle of summer, and another who had to wear casts on both legs and both arms, just think of that.

Instead of thinking of that, however, Krystle thought of how she was going to cope for the next few weeks with only one arm, and someone else's misery did not help her feel better at the moment.

The next time the nurse made her rounds, Stacey asked if any of the actors from the movies ever came to Green Grove.

"Actors? Actors. Hmm, let me think about that." The nurse was quiet for a long time while she checked their pulses, blood pressures, temperatures, but when she was finished, she said, "You remember the actor who played Saruman, the wizard, the bad guy? Christopher... something?" Krystle and Stacey nodded, of course they knew. "He came here during the summers until just a few years ago, as a matter of fact, but only for a few days at a time, and he brought Peter Jackson here for a visit, once."

"Peter Jackson!" Both of them shouted aloud, in unison.

"He was here?" asked Stacey. "Did you meet him?"

"Aw, now don't get so excited, he wasn't a patient or I wouldn't be able to even tell you that much. Really, this was all back when the movies were first running in theaters. We haven't seen many movie people around here since then, we aren't that glamorous."

"Movie people? Like who?"

Mostly, she told them, it was the movie's creative artists who wanted to draw some inspiration from a place where Tolkien visited that would come for a weekend or more. Green Grove was not a jet-setter's hot spot, just a quiet little town for those rare people who knew of its existence to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

"Her reaction was very interesting," said Stacey, her eyes narrow with suspicion, after the nurse moved on with her duties. "Did you see the way she kept looking over at that other nurse," she nodded at the well-lit desk in the center of the large room, "like she was afraid of being overheard?"

"No, I didn't see her do that." Krystle was feeling too tired and sore, and even a little too sorry for herself, to play this game anymore.

"She acted like maybe she wasn't supposed to tell us anything. Like this place is supposed to be a secret."

"There's lots of 'secret places' in California that only certain people know about, or are allowed into," said Krystle, a bit grumpily. "My dad used to go fishing near an abandoned gold mine in the Sierra's. He swore that there was a town there that time forgot and only he knew about. He took me there once, it was so boring, but it was really pretty."

"What was it like, the town? Did people wear old-fashioned clothes and stuff?"

"All I remember is we had to drive up into the mountains on a skinny dirt road and the store had bottles of orange and grape soda-pop in a big barrel full of ice, instead of a machine, right out front."

"Okay then, maybe she was hiding something else from us."

"Like what?"

Stacey did not answer, however, for at that moment the same nurse came back, although not equipped with her blood pressure cuff and stethoscope, or carrying water glasses. She did have a big smile on her face, like she had something to say that she knew would make them happy.

To Krystle's chagrin, Stacey asked, flat out, if Orlando Bloom had ever been there.

The nurse sighed, shook her head, and then shifted her eyes back and forth between the two of them, as if trying to decide what to say. Krystle, as grumpy and weary as she was, realized with a odd tingle down her spine that Stacey was on to something.

"Honestly, you two," whispered the nurse. "Listen, I'll be right back. I have something of a surprise for you." She said this last to Krystle before turning to leave.

"I told you," said the triumphant Stacey, bouncing on her bed. "I told you, I told you, I told you." She was not to be restrained now.

Before the nurse returned, Stacey had concluded, after weighing all the evidence, that Orlando was probably a patient here. He had been in the big pile-up and was in one of the beds at the other part of the clinic that the nurse kept running off to visit. To protect his privacy, his presence had to be kept a secret. It all made perfect sense.

"I think you're nuts," said Krystle. "But that nurse was hiding something." They both leaned out of their beds as far as they could to see through the door the nurse had gone through, but to no avail.

Finally, Stacey got out of her bed to investigate. She had been given crutches to keep her from stepping on her bandaged foot, and she 'crutched' a bit awkwardly over to the doorway and peeked around. Quickly, she turned back around and hopped back to her bed on one foot, while dragging her crutches along. The nurse followed almost directly behind her, pushing an empty wheelchair, and came to their beds again.

"You have a visitor," she told Krystle as she moved to assist her out of bed.

"I can walk!"

"No, better not, we have to go all the way outside."

"Oh my Gawd!" Stacey nearly shouted and was promptly shushed by the nurse. In a quieter but no less excited tone, she asked, "It's that ambulance guy, isn't it?"

Although the nurse would not say. Krystle was hopeful that her visitor was a family member. Except, why would they need to go outside?

Stacey had to come along, at least to the front door, and to convince the nurse she pointed out how badly she needed to practice using her crutches, since she almost broke her neck a minute ago. After getting Krystle into the wheelchair, the nurse left for a few minutes to fetch a blanket to cover her with; it was chilly outside.

"I gotta see this guy," Stacey whispered to Krystle. "Aren't you excited? Are you still going to kiss him?"

"How do you know its him?"

"If he is an elf..."

"Stacey," Krystle, a bit exasperated, held her hand up, palm forward, to stop her. "Give it up."

"No, for real, listen. Why else would you have to meet him outdoors, where its dark? Maybe so you can't tell he's an elf, duh." The nurse returned and they all went forward to see the mysterious visitor. Disappointment took some of the edge off of Stacey's excitement after they went through the door, and then down a hall which led only to a lobby.

There was no Orlando Bloom lying about recovering from his injuries, just a few dozen chairs, a couple of tables, and a set of double doors, in front of which Krystle's wheelchair was parked.

"Or maybe he is just really ugly," remarked Stacey, as the nurse left them to open the doors. "And doesn't want you to see what he looks like. You still have to kiss him."

As it turned out, the surprise visitor was not an elf, or a 'he', or even a human.

"Chips!" shrieked Krystle as the wiggling, joyful boxer attempted to leap up on her lap. Attached to her collar was a makeshift leash that looked suitable for a toy poodle, it was so flimsy. Holding the leash was the knight in shining armor hero, only she was not an elf, either. Her name was Sarah, and she was the one who drove the ambulance that brought Krystle there.

"You're the one who rescued Chips?"

"One and the same, ma'am," replied the paramedic as she knelt by the wheelchair. Chips could not seem to decide who she wanted to jump on and lick more. "She's a sweet doggy, isn't she?"

"You have to kiss her anyway!" hollered Stacey, hanging half-way out the door. "You said you would!" Krystle explained the comment and actually felt willing to kiss the woman, on the cheek at least.

"Oh that's okay," said Sarah. "I got plenty of kisses from this doggy."

The visit was over too soon, Chips had to return to the jail until morning and the nurse swore that Netty would have her neck if she caught them all outside at this hour. Stacey, not to be discouraged, waited until she was back in bed before she reminded the nurse that her question had never been answered.

"Well?" Stacey almost saucily confronted the nurse. "Has Orlando ever been here in Green Grove, or not?"

If Krystle had been the nurse, she told herself, she would have smacked Stacey. The nurse, however, looked over her shoulder and then back at both of them, again, like she had before, before replying.

"Do you both promise not to tell anyone?" She whispered.

They both swore 'not to tell'. For good measure, Stacey crossed her heart and hoped to die if she ever told anyone anything ever again for the rest of her life.

"The only reason I am going to tell you this is you're both leaving here in the morning."

To be continued


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"At first, I wasn't going to say anything because it is really only a rumor," said the nurse, in a conspiratorial but cautious tone. "But, one of the day-shift nurses has a boyfriend who works at the dining house and he said..." She got no further than that before a voice interrupted her from a bed across the room.

"Nurse?" It was the old woman who snored; she was awake now, and trying to sit. "Can you help me?" She was cold and needed another blanket, and the nurse had to leave Krystle and Stacey hanging while she went to fetch one.

Stacey let her held breath out in a ragged sigh that was half-growl and half-moan, before falling over sideways to writhe on her bed in pretended agony. "I can't take this anymore," she said, her voice strangled by frustration. Neither she nor Krystle had been lying down, or even pretending anymore, but sat up on their beds, wide awake.

For some reason, Krystle's heart began to pound, hard, after the nurse volunteered to reveal something that both she and Stacey were sworn to keep to themselves. What a night. She wore the blanket that had covered her for her visit outdoors with Chips like it was a shawl. Stacey had pulled her own covers up and over her bare legs for warmth and became tangled in them, during her thrashing, and she had quite a struggle returning back to a sitting position without doing further injury to her burned hands and foot.

"Ow, ow, ow," said Krystle, after she thoughtlessly tried to clutch her left side and knocked her hand against her casted arm, which ended up hurting her twice as much. "Don't make me laugh anymore, it's killing me."

Luckily, before either could suffer any more self-inflicted injuries, on top of their very real ones, the nurse returned to finish her tale. As they had both guessed while she was gone, so it barely was a surprise, an Orlando Bloom sighting had happened just the day before. The boyfriend of the day nurse swore he saw him pass by a window. It was unconfirmed, and possibly a hoax, because the day nurse was a big fan and always wished that Orlando would visit here, and her boyfriend loved to play pranks on her.

"I almost told you about it a few times, tonight," the nurse concluded, confirming both of their suspicions about her shifting-eyed behavior earlier. "But it would be just like him to tease her like that, and you are leaving in the morning, so I didn't want to get any hopes up for nothing." she shrugged, and then moved closer to Krystle's bed. "Hey, kiddo, how's that arm?"

"It hurts, I accidentally moved it." Krystle was grateful to be asked about it and the nurse promised to bring her some more medication after she took care of something else first.

"Thank you," Krystle said. "And thanks for telling us about the Orlando sighting. It's kind of cool waking up in a place where a real movie star might be visiting. It's kind of like being in Middle-earth, you know?"

"It's better!" exclaimed the awed Stacey. "He's real, he's a real guy, we could meet him!"

"Not right now you can't," said the nurse. "After you are discharged to your parents, then you are on your own to do what you like. Until then, you belong to us, so to speak. It's the law."

If the nurse thought she had done either of them a favor with her gossip, she was sorely mistaken, for Stacey was determined now to do the only thing that could be done by a true fan, under the circumstances, she was going to go right out and find him and she wanted Krystle to come with her.

"It's practically an unwritten law," vowed Stacey, shocked that Krystle did not leap out of bed at the idea. "It's like breaking out of a prisoner of war camp if you are a soldier, you have to at least try."

"Stacey, we aren't soldiers," Krystle pointed out. "Or prisoners." She did not add that she was in too much pain to want to do more than lie very still for a very long time. As soon as she heard about the prankster boyfriend, she dismissed the rumor about the Orlando sighting as not important enough to jump up out of her bed to investigate.

"Maybe you aren't a prisoner, but I am. You can just check yourself out, but I can't. I have to wait for my parents, and I know they won't let me stay around to find Orlando tomorrow. So I am busting out of this joint."

"I think you watch too much television." Although Krystle would have loved to have met Orlando Bloom, the actor, she did not have him confused in her mind with Legolas, the elf. It would be nice to meet a movie star, true, but not nice enough to aid and abet Stacey and possibly be breaking a law.

"Come on, don't be so negative, live a little." Stacey bounced with impatience. "I only want to see if we can get a peek at him."

"In the middle of the night? We don't even know where he is staying, or if he is even here. Maybe he was just passing through." Krystle could not believe how much she sounded like her own mother to herself. Stacey already had an answer.

"The clinic people told my mom that there is only one place to stay in this town," she said, holding up a fat bandaged finger to illustrate her point. "One hotel, and it's not a very big town."

"You are crazy." Krystle's whispering voice grew shrill. "What do you think you are going to do, sneak past everybody in some hotel lobby wearing your hospital gown and go knock on doors?" This time there was a long silence before Stacey replied.

"I could say that I am looking for my parents and check out the layout."

"Check out the layout?" Krystle shook her head at the flat-out wrongness of her response. "No, she said, "Stacey, hon, listen to me. This isn't a video game, its real life."

"I know that, and I am going to live it." Without saying another word, Stacey hopped off her bed, with her blanket draped over her shoulders, and grabbed her crutches.

"You are going to break your neck," said Krystle, not whispering now, to show she was serious. "Stacey, don't make me call the nurse over to tie you down to your bed."

"Oh, don't worry," Stacey snapped back. "I'm not going anywhere. Where's your sense of humor? I am just going to get some practice, okay?" With the injured air of being accused unfairly, she crutched around her beside her bed a few times and seemed to concentrate solely on establishing a rhythm. "I need more room to do this," she declared, and then was out the door into the hallway, giggling.

Krystle was in a quandary after glancing over at the nurses' desk for help. Neither of them was there. Should she call out? If they were in the same room, but out of her sight, then they must have heard Stacey hobbling and giggling her way out the door. She waited.

Now, just the day before, Krystle had wondered, more than once, if she would be more suited for teaching teenagers than young children. She wondered no more. The job she applied for near Sacramento was in an elementary school, where she was not going to be in charge of anyone that she could not pick up and carry, and Stacey was a convincing example that she had made the right choice.

Quietly, she slipped off of her own bed and followed. It was not hard to catch up with Stacey, she was just outside the door, untangling a crutch from the slippery blanket.

"Do you need some help?" Together, they adjusted the cover in a more practical fashion for crutching around. Krystle was not much help with one arm, so it was a slow process, and she hoped that one of the nurses would come to investigate.

"I just want to peek out the door again," whispered Stacey. She lifted the back of the blanket she wore up over her head like it was a hood and crutched up to the double doors. "See what I can see."

"Alright." Krystle did not have any trouble keeping up with her. "But I am going to be right next to you so you better not try anything funny. You look like a ghost now, with your blanket like that."

"I know what my hair looks like," said Stacey, pushing past her. "I don't want Orlando to see it." Before Krystle could reach out and stop her, she was out the doors, crutching along the graveled driveway like a pro, although not a very fast pro. The ground proved slippery and there were a few yelps of alarm when the crutch tips slid or stuttered on the uneven surface. Her forward momentum, and teenage stubbornness, propelled her forward.

For a few moments, Krystle turned in circles trying to decide what to do. Go back and find a nurse, scream for help, or chase after Stacey? Her side hurt, and if she left the clinic then she would not get her pain medication, and she would probably be breaking some kind of law by not telling anyone about a minor running away. She was out the door and into the dark before she could think anymore about it.

"I can't let you go running around a strange town by yourself, can I?" She had it in mind that she could persuade the unruly teen to return to the clinic if she stopped trying to keep her inside. "What if you went missing and got carried off into the woods by a bear or something?" It was spooky outdoors, they were surrounded by forest, and the clinic was apparently built on the outskirts of Green Grove.

There were no street lights, and it grew darker the farther they traveled away from the clinic, but not too dark to see. A few sleepy birds chirped from the surrounding trees, the sun would be up soon. They moved across a large graveled area meant for cars and the ambulance, which was the only vehicle parked there. Its gleaming white surface hovered over the surface like a strange space craft in the pre-dawn gloom. Stacey, however, did not seem spooked and forged ahead, leading the way.

The road there was narrow and led to a bridge, the sound of rushing water could be heard as they drew nearer. It had a sign beside it that said; 'Welcome to Green Grove. Home of the Famous Crooked Valley Hot Springs.'

It was a short bridge, they could see the town just beyond it, but Stacey insisted it was significant. What if the river below it was enchanted? And did not Rivendell have a bridge? She had read that far into the books. The dark sky began to lighten, thin and shifting shadows thrown by stationary objects, like the tall trees that dominated the horizon, started to appear.

Although she resisted the idea of being in a supernatural setting, Krystle began to feel odd as they moved across the bridge. What if Stacey was right and they were moving into an enchanted realm? The idea itself made her feel a little giddy, added to the murky dimness, and the sound of water, perhaps. After they had crossed, she looked straight upwards into the darkest part of the sky, where the stars were giving up their last twinkles of the night. There was the Big Dipper, right where it should be.

"This is a just a normal small town," said Krystle out loud, relieved. The road widened dramatically after the bridge, and buildings were crowded right up to the edge of the sidewalks, which were made of wooden planks. Nothing special about that in the middle of a forest. The main street was twice as wide as a more urban town or city, which was actually normal for a former mining or logging town. There were no cars parked out in front of any of the buildings. "I smell bread baking, don't you?"

They passed a bakery with lights on in the back but a darkened front window and 'closed' sign in the door. An unusually large frosted cake sat on display; its three tiers were separated by miniature pillars and each tier was decorated in different shade of icing, the colors were difficult to tell in the dark, and with different styles of decoration. Krystle's hungry stomach reminded her of how long it had been since she had eaten.

"Oh my gawd! Look!" Stacey tugged Krystle past the beautiful cake and into what looked like an alley between buildings, but turned out to be a small dirt road that clearly led for a long way in a straight line before it veered off into the trees behind the bakery. But that was not what Stacey wanted her to see, she was pointing up, and there, on the outer wall of the building next over, was a small sign, which said; 'Tolkien Cabin tour times: request within.'

"Is that a hotel down there?" Stacey had not even noticed the sign about Tolkien's cabin and Krystle decided not to say anything. The last thing she needed was to be dragged off into the forest by the gullible teen. The hotel turned out to be a second hand store, and the sign that Stacey mistook for a vacancy sign said 'used junque' in fancy scrolled letters, it hung by chains under a larger sign that had the store's name. Krystle had to pull Stacey away from the window.

"Look at that necklace."

"What about it?" Krystle did not even bother to look.

"It looks just like a magical amulet, like it possesses powers. We should buy it."

"We? Buy it? With what?" Exasperated, Krystle flung her arms open to display a lack of any worldly goods beyond a thin blanket and a thinner hospital gown. Which was a mistake, her injured arm throbbed with renewed pain. They were both startled into silence by the sound of approaching footsteps on the wooden sidewalk, although they could not see anyone around them.

Without thinking, Krystle pulled Stacey down the sidewalk towards the bakery and ducked between the buildings where the dirt road lay.

"Maybe they will let us touch it, or put it on?" Stacey asked, whispering, still thinking of the necklace. "That would be all it would take, if it is magic."

"Will you be quiet? Someone is out there..." Frantically, Krystle tried to think of what she could possibly say to explain their presence, prowling about in a strange town dressed as they were, with crutches, a cast, and bandaged up like, well, like accident victims.

They were near the bakery again, and Krystle's stomach growled so hard from the aroma of baked goods that she had no doubt they were about to be caught, and she hoped that no one would press charges against her. Why did she follow this girl?

After a few heart-banging moments, the sound of the footsteps could no longer be heard. Krystle could not tell if they had moved farther away or if the person who made them was just around the corner of the building. Above their heads, lights came on in the windows of the building they were hovering next to. Stacey saw the sign on the wall.

"Tolkien's cabin tours!" She managed to keep her squeals in a whisper, but her obvious gleeful excitement was only one more obstacle.

"No! No cabin," hissed Krystle, her whole left side was one big aching knot. "We are going back..."

"Look over there!" Stacey crutched a few steps further down the odd little road, the sky was mostly gray now and light blue at the horizons, toward a wooden sign stuck in the ground. She read it out loud, "This way to Tolkien's cabin." With an arrow. Krystle covered her face and groaned.

After Stacey promised that she would meekly and swiftly return to the clinic if they just took a fast and tiny peek at the cabin, Krystle relented. As they moved down the road, they were surrounded on either side by orchards, probably apples. The backs of the bakery and the other buildings were camouflaged by bushes and the fruit trees, it was almost as if they did not exist. The forest loomed before them, dark and great. If not for the approaching dawn, she did not know if she could have gone within it.

As it turned out, the log cabin was in a clearing, behind a natural screen of berry bushes and other shrubbery, and there was no need to go into the forest at all. Tolkien's log home did not look very magical to Krystle, but it was a cleverly built structure, set back from the road with a gated entrance and a walkway to the front door that was paved in log rounds.

The sun had not topped the trees, yet, so everything was still in shade, but it was light enough now to see how pretty everything was. Rambling roses, various vines, and creeping ivy grew in a riot of semi-tamed wildness over the gate, the fence that circled the cabin, and the cabin itself. Someone had kept the walkway clear, but the rest of the yard inside the fence was overgrown with bushes and weeds. It looked like it was once a nice place to stay for a summer vacation, years ago.

Stacey found the wooden pathway slippery with dew, and she moved very slowly now. Krystle beat her to the front door. There was a small table set on the porch with a tin bucket labeled 'donations for upkeep' set on top of it. It was empty.

On the door of the cabin was a plaque, certifying that this was the genuine, and historical, part-time residence of JRR Tolkien, with dates. Another hand-lettered sign, covered with peeling plastic, cautioned visitors to proceed with care. Visiting hours and formal tour times were listed.

"Rats," whispered Stacey. "Maybe we can see in the windows." She tried some, Krystle tried others, they all were curtained. The floor boards of the cabin's front porch squeaked and rattled as they searched for a view of the interior.

"Maybe we should give up before one of these old boards breaks underneath us," said Krystle. The sun was up, and if a search party had not been launched for two missing clinic patients, then one would be, shortly. She imagined blood-hounds and men in flannel shirts carrying shot-guns, hunting them down like fugitives.

"Just let me try something," said Stacey, and she turned the knob on the front door. It opened. The room within was nearly pitch-black dark with all the curtains blocking the brightening day.

"I hope there's no one living inside there," Krystle cautioned, although she did not think Stacey would walk into a stranger's home uninvited. That would be trespassing. Or breaking and entering? Either was not a good idea.

"There's one way to find out," answered the willful teenager, and she walked right in.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four**

As frightened as she was by the notion of being caught trespassing, Krystle found it hard to resist following Stacey within Tolkien's cabin, after the teen-ager had just walked right in without so much as knocking first.

She waited outside, standing in the open doorway, for a few minutes, peeking in, while Stacey drew open all of the curtains to let light into the otherwise dim interior of what turned out to be one room. If there was anyone living inside, they would not have had anywhere to hide from view, it was that small.

Once Krystle was convinced that the cabin was empty, she found the temptation to do a bit of snooping around with Stacey just too alluring, and she gave in and entered. If anyone did find them here, she decided that she would explain how she was only trying to coax the teen to return to the clinic.

The floor boards inside of the cabin were in not much better shape than the ones on the porch, and they creaked, squeaked, and groaned dryly, and felt springy, when Stacey walked around the room. Small multi-colored rag rugs were placed decoratively around the floor, but she avoided them, they looked slippery.

"Be careful, Stacey, these floors don't feel so safe. Stay away from those rugs, okay?"

"I will, don't worry," said Stacey as she crutched right over the top of one, oblivious, while she stared around her.

The cabin was sparsely furnished with a quaintly 'Wild West' frontier-days flair. There were a table and chairs, crudely fashioned from thick planks of wood, maybe by local craftsmen, in the middle of the room. It bore a wooden bucket full of dead chrysanthemums as a centerpiece. A small wooden bed, with a crazy-quilt spread on top of its lumpy mattress, but no pillows, took up one corner.

A rocking chair made of bent branches, with a woven cane seat, was parked by a pot-belly stove in another corner. Pegs on the wall by the door held a hat, an umbrella, and a raincoat. There was nothing about the place that felt like Middle Earth. In fact, there was nothing to indicate that Tolkien ever visited there.

Except for the desk.

"Wowsers," breathed Stacey, impressed with the main feature of this historical landmark, located under a window, which was in the center of the wall opposite the door. Professor Tolkien's desk had a detailed placard above it, next to the window, with dates of its arrival in the United States from his home in Oxford, Great Britain, and a golden sun ray reaching through the glass poured over it like a spotlight.

It was called a 'traveling desk' in the description, and for comparison there was a photo of Tolkien's other enormous desk, which was located at his home. This one in the cabin was about a quarter of its size, but, for a traveling desk, it seemed grandly permanent among its more rustic furniture cousins.

Even to her untrained eye, Krystle thought the desk had a military flavor to it, with its simple brass corners and brass fittings, and its rich, dark polished wood. It had three drawers, which were partially opened to display their contents, mostly loose handwritten notes, and was placed on hinged crossed legs that looked like they should fold up. There was nothing very fancy about it, yet it was beautiful.

"Look," said Krystle, while pointing at the series of cubbyholes that were perched on the top, "here are some of Tolkien's pencils, ink pens, and paper." She did not touch them, afraid to leave fingerprints. There were a few pots of ink and some interesting if unrecognizable tools, she assumed they were meant for sharpening the pencils or filling the pens with ink. It would be nice to have a tour guide here to explain everything.

Some of the most valuable documents were framed under glass, labeled,and hung on the wall, such as a poem and a few pages of handwritten notes regarding the Dwarves' language, with samples of their alphabet. There were some sketches of flowers and trees, too.

On the desktop lay a leather bound notebook, opened to display what must be a journal, with nearly indecipherable handwriting. Krystle wished she could leaf through it, but a handwritten sign next to it stated, 'do not handle items without permission.'

Although Krystle knew little about the late author's life, she could picture him sitting there at his desk, staring out the window while writing in his notebook, composing his poem, or drawing his pictures. In her mind, he looked something like Gandalf from the movies, but with shorter hair and no beard.

"How boring," declared Stacey, after muttering her way through the displayed documents as she attempted to read them, with little success. "There is nothing here about Legolas at all. Or any elves. Who cares about dwarves?"

Krystle stayed at the desk and studied the framed items on the wall, but Stacey moved to the side of the cabin opposite the bed where a regular-sized cooking stove was located, with shelves containing dishes, pots, and pans above it. And a teapot. She opened a cupboard door and giggled over her findings.

"Digestive biscuits?" She pulled a faded red box out and held it up for Krystle to see. "These aren't biscuits."

"Put that back!" Krystle ordered, and she reluctantly left the Professor's desk to make sure Stacey did as she was told.

"They look like cookies," said Stacey, as if unimpressed with Krystle's stern command, and she leisurely examined the box that was still in her hands, shaking it and sniffing at it, before opening it to inspect the contents. "I wonder what they taste like?"

"I think what you are doing could be called burglary," warned Krystle. Even as hungry as she was, to steal someone else's food was not right, and to do it in a historical landmark was probably a felony at least. "Even coming in here is committing burglary, I think."

"Just like Bilbo!" Stacey answered and she bragged about 'at least' having read "The Hobbit", although she was disappointed that Legolas never appeared in the story. The hobbit was best at breaking into places and stealing food, so that was not an insult to her and she seemed proud of the fact. She stuck her tongue out at the box and added, "But these don't look very fresh, so I don't want them."

After putting the box back exactly where she found it, at Krystle's suggestion, Stacey stood in front of the open cupboard and studied the rest of the contents without touching anything else. There was not much of interest inside, mostly the usual items one would find in a kitchen, such as salt, pepper, a box of baking powder and the like. Stacey had a giggle over some rusting tins of tea with funny names like 'Darjeeling' and 'Lapsang Souchong'. Neither of them knew how to pronounce the words.

"This is so boring," sighed Stacey finally, with a yawn. The long night was finally getting to the teenager, it seemed, as well it should have, or so Krystle believed. Now was the time to take advantage of the situation.

"Lets go back now," she said quietly, reaching out with her good hand to gently tug Stacey away. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Wait, I want to look in here, first." Stacey easily eluded Krystle's grasp and opened the only other cupboard. Within it were some candles in a box, wooden matches, an empty glass kerosene lamp, and toothpicks. The teen groaned with disappointment.

"What did you think you were going to find? An elf?" Again, Krystle reached out and this time was able to grab hold of Stacey's arm, she tugged her away.

"I don't know, because I didn't find it," Stacey answered, grumpily. "Okay, lets go."

Krystle released Stacey's arm, reminded her again to be careful, and then watched helplessly as the teenager crutched toward the door, eager now to leave, and caught the tip of one crutch on a rug. She slipped, pirouetted around the other crutch as she fell, and, with a loud whoop of surprise, landed flat on her behind.

"I'm okay!" she said, embarrassed, before the shocked Krystle even had time to react.

"You broke the floor!" Krystle felt a thrill of panic race through her. They were almost out the door and now what had Stacey done? Upon her impact, one of the loose boards, a short one, had jumped up completely off of the floor and landed sideways, with a clatter, next to the crumpled rug.

"Oh, you don't even care about me," Stacey whined, even though she was obviously physically unhurt. "One stupid piece of wood comes loose and you throw a fit!"

With a sigh, Krystle reached down to help her, but was waved away with a petulant, "No thanks. I can get up by myself."

"Maybe you should just stay here and fix the broken floor," snarled Krystle, fed up. She picked up the crutches and held them out of Stacey's reach. "While I go get someone to tie you up and carry you back before you kill yourself."

"Hey, wait a minute!" said Stacey, not having paid attention. She was examining the hole left by the wayward board, her head tilted sideways. "There is something weird...?" As she spoke, she tugged at another board, it was short too, until it came off the floor.

"Stacey!" cried Krystle as she crouched beside her to stop her from doing more damage. "What are you doing?"

"There's something under here," said the teenager, pointing proudly.

There was a beaten metal surface clearly visible under the hole left by the loosened boards, odd, but that is not what Stacey was concerned about. She lifted yet another board, it came off with a firm tug and a squeal from the rusted nails releasing their grip, and there was a large ring at one edge of what was revealed to be a metal plate, which was some kind of lid.

"It looks like a trap door," said Krystle, amazed. She removed a board this time, the nails easily slid through the rotted wood, and the entire hidden door, a perfect square with thick iron hinges on one edge, was uncovered.

"You know what that is?" Stacey sounded breathless, as if she had been running. "It's a portal! A portal to Middle-earth!" Before Krystle could stop her, she lifted the ring and pulled the door up, its hinges screamed almost painfully. There was no puff of smoke, or fire, or flashing lights, or anything magical at all to indicate it was anything more than an ordinary trapdoor, if trapdoors can be called ordinary.

They both peered down into the dark hole and saw only a steep narrow wooden staircase that plunged straight down like a ladder, and ended in shadows. As if on a signal, they looked at each other.

"Well, we will never know what it is, will we?" Krystle asked brightly, as if what she saw down that dark, deep hole was the answer to all of her problems with Stacey. "Because you can't get down there with those crutches and you aren't going to see me trying to break my neck today. Middle-earth is safe from us, I think." She stood up and offered her hand to Stacey.

"We gotta put this floor back together and clean this up before we get caught," she added, hoping she would get no further arguments from her out-of-control companion.

"Okay, hand me my crutches," answered Stacey. "Watch," she said, after she had her crutches back in her hands, and she turned them handle-side down and let them fall into the hole. They traveled noisily down the steep steps, ending with a dull thump on their padded edges somewhere below the shadows, which cloaked the bottom.

Krystle burst out laughing, mostly from hysteria, at the absurdity of what she had just witnessed.

"I hope you don't think I'm going to get those for you, with my broken arm." Now she shuddered a little to think of slipping on those steps and tumbling to the bottom of the hole. "There's got to be spiders down there."

"Don't worry, I'm gonna get 'em myself," declared Stacey. "Spiders don't scare me." She slid herself feet first into the hole and proceeded to slowly bump down the steps on her behind. Krystle watched her, speechless. The temptation to shut the trapdoor and run for help swept over her, but to leave the teenager alone in the dark would be cruel.

Finally showing some good sense, Stacey stopped when she reached the shadows, and changed her mind. Coming back up was not so easy, she did it backwards, too scared to turn around on the steep stairway and risk falling. When she was almost back to the top, she stopped and asked Krystle for a candle.

"But, I can't leave those crutches down there!" she protested, after Krystle shook her head 'no'. "They would be evidence that we were here, see? We have to get them!"

"We?"

"All I want you to do is bring me a candle, its dark down there." It took some time, but eventually Stacey was able to wheedle a lit candle out of Krystle after she pointed out that to leave the crutches behind would mean she would need to be carried back by Krystle, with her broken arm.

"You know what?" Krystle remarked, before rising to fetch the candle. "I would gladly, no, I would cheerfully go to jail for vandalism and burglary, and whatever other charges might be made against me, if someone would walk in that door and arrest me right now."

"I'll get my parents to bail you out," said Stacey, missing the sarcasm altogether, but at least sounding sorry. "It was all my fault anyway."

Satisfied a little, Krystle let those last words hang in the air while she rummaged around for a flashlight, with no luck, and then for a candle-holder. All she could picture in her mind was Stacey starting a fire, somehow. Finally, she had to settle for a saucer, to which she fixed the lit candle in place with its own drippings. She made sure it would not come undone if handled carefully, and sent up a small prayer as she carried the dish to the trapdoor.

Stacey was crying.

"Now what?" asked Krystle, concerned. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"I'm so stupid!" Stacey sobbed wetly. "Everything I ever do is wrong." She was posed dramatically on the stairs, her face covered by her hands, and crying loudly as if her heart was breaking.

"You're just tired," said Krystle. She sat next to the trapdoor and reached down to pat the top of Stacey's head. "And crying like that is only going to make you feel more tired. Besides, I followed you in here, didn't I? I have to share some of the blame, and since I am an adult and you are a minor, I probably have to take all of it."

"But it wasn't your fault! You were just trying to get me to go back the whole time!" Stacey's anger over the imaginary charges Krystle would be facing stopped her tears.

"Here, take this, and don't let it go out," Krystle said as she handed over the candle on its saucer. "I would tell you to be careful and not to start a fire, but I am afraid of what might happen."

"Oh, ha ha ha," replied Stacey, not amused. She was cautious, for a change, with the candle, and she slowly made her way back down the steps. As the flickering light penetrated the shadows, Krystle leaned farther over the opening to see what was at the bottom.

Only a few steps below the shadows the top of an arch appeared on one side of the narrow walls. It grew into an ever widening opening as Stacey, who appeared not to notice it at all as she kept her eyes glued on the lit candle, slowly reached the bottom of the steps.

"Got em!" she shouted, and held up and waved a crutch around over her head in triumph. "Whoa!" she shouted, when she turned to pick up the other one and saw the arched doorway next to her. "Krystle, you got to get down here and see this!"

With the agility of a typically tireless adolescent, Stacey was up on her crutches, without dropping the candle, and had disappeared from Krystle's view. All she could see was the glow of the wavering candle light coming from out of the arched opening. It was only then, and with a start, that Krystle realized the walls on either side of the steep stairway were made of stone. How curious.

"What do you see?" She called down.

"Wine!" Stacey shouted back, and she laughed with an evil cackle. "Hurry up before I drink it all!" There was a loud clatter like pottery being dropped, an "Oops!" and then a few thumps, followed by an "I'm okay!"

"You better not break anything in there!" Krystle was alarmed enough to swing her legs into the trapdoor opening and set her feet on the steps. If Stacey could make it to the bottom with only one hand, then how hard could it be? "Get out of there now before you set the whole place on fire!"

"Hey, there is something written in Elvish down here!" hollered Stacey. Her voice was slightly more muffled now, as if she had moved farther away from the door. "I think it is, anyway. It says 'chat you soo verane'?"

"What are you talking about?" Now Krystle was inquisitive enough about whatever Stacey had found to start down the steps. "Why do you think its Elvish?" Stacey popped her head from the doorway and smiled upwards.

"You gotta see this! I think I really found the secret passage to get to Middle-earth! I'm not kidding! Hurry up!"

"What is it?" But the teenager disappeared without explaining further. As Krystle descended the last few steps, with only the dim candlelight's glow from the hidden room to guide her, she heard Stacey knocking on something; the regular raps made a hollow sound like a drum.

"What are you doing?" Krystle was astonished at how large the cellar was, now that she was walking about in it, it was a wine cellar and the walls were made of stone. There were racks, mostly empty, for bottles of wine.

Stacey was around a corner, standing in front of some large, rounded objects which she was rapping on. The candle threw shadows over everything, and it was hard to tell what they were at first. Stacey pointed out the words printed on them that she thought were Elvish.

"I think one of these is a door," Stacey said, continuing her knocking.

"These are wine barrels," Krystle declared, nodding as if it was just as she expected. "Elves like wine, but those aren't Elvish words. They say, 'Chateau Souverain', not 'chat you shoo verane', or whatever you said."

"I have heard of Chateau Soverain before." Stacey stopped knocking and sighed, disappointed once more. "What does it mean?"

"It's French." Krystle shrugged. "And it's the name of a famous winery, you probably saw their commercials on television. These are just some ordinary wine barrels. Nothing Elvish about them. Let's go now."

"Hello!" A male voice called down to them from above. "Is there someone down there?"

Stacey jerked at the sound and the candle fell over on the saucer, immediately extinguishing itself. She clutched Krystle, which hurt, while Krystle's mind raced as she tried to think of what she could possibly say now.

T B C


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter five**

Krystle wished her heart would stop banging so loud that she could not hear if the person attached to the voice above them was coming down the steps. Next to her, Stacey whispered into her ear, in a hysterical hiss, which did not help.

"Oh my gawd," Stacey was saying, "It's him up there!"

"Him? Who?" For a moment, Krystle wondered if Stacey meant Professor Tolkien's ghost, not that she believed in ghosts, at least not very much.

"That guy whose footsteps we heard in town," Stacey said, her voice raising slightly. "Remember, on the sidewalk?"

"Shhhh, quiet." It took only a moment's pause for Stacey's words to sink in, and then Krystle had to ask, "Hey, why do you think it's him?"

"He is probably a killer and he is coming to kill us!"

But Krystle only half-listened, and with just half an ear, to Stacey's wild theory, and with the rest of her ears to the stairway. Surely she would hear whoever it was up there if he came down the steps. The idea of 'mad killers' in such a quiet little town seemed too absurd to take seriously. Still, what if it was a ghost? And he was disturbed and awakened by their tearing up the cabin? At the thought, she felt the hair raise on the back of her neck.

While she waited for the voice from above to repeat itself, listened for footsteps, and soothed Stacey, her mind also raced with excuses for being where she had no business being, and looking the way she did. She wished the candle had not gone out, the darkness was stifling, and her eyes strained hard to see around her.

Weird colors swam in Krystle's strained vision, tinges of redness and swirling shadows, and, fighting back her fear of seeing ghostly apparitions, she wondered if her head-injury had anything to do with it. Involuntarily, to clear her eyes, she shut them tight and shook her head, which only hurt her neck.

"Hello?"

The voice came from very close by, almost right next to them. Stacey clutched the now nearly fainting from pain Krystle harder, as they both squealed in fear. The voice was kind enough, though, when it added, "How about some light?"

After an audible 'click' from a switch, the entire cellar was instantly lit up from overhead lamps. The voice was revealed to belong to a young man, not exactly a mad killer type, to Krystle's eyes, but a stranger anyway.

"Who are you?" She gasped.

"My name is Herman, and this is my cabin," he answered in a pleasant drawl and with a friendly grin. "I see you found the wine cellar, although you certainly took the long way."

The stranger was long, and lean, and he kept his hands in his pockets while he leaned back against the wall, far from them, near the entrance. Krystle thought he was kind of cute, in a shaggy, 'lost in the Sixties' sort of way. He wore a flannel shirt, like she imagined their pursuers would do, loose blue jeans and scuffed boots.

"I thought this cabin was Tolkien's!" Stacey exclaimed, from behind Krystle, where she was hiding. Her voice had an accusatory tone to it, as if catching the stranger in a lie.

"Oh, it was, once," he said, nodding and shifting his weight slightly and then settling back again against the wall, as if he was planning to stay there for a long time. "I bought it. It was going to be auctioned off, you know," he paused and smiled knowingly, as if sharing a well known legend, and then added "Piece by piece, just like old Bilbo's home."

"Bilbo?" Krystle asked. She felt odd, bewildered, and yet somehow relieved by the information. Just knowing that the man was possibly the owner of a home that she had broken into, and not a mad killer who had followed them, made her feel safer and more afraid at the same time. Would he sue them?

"She never read 'The Hobbit'," Stacey explained, poking her head out from behind Krystle. "I don't think she knows what you're talking about."

"But you do," Herman answered. "Do not be afraid of me. I do not bite."

Krystle could detect the slightest accent in Herman's speech, but she could not place it. It was European, she thought, somewhere in between British and possibly German. As far as she knew, it could even be Hungarian. There was something in the way he pronounced his 'f's, and the deliberate way he spoke, enunciating each syllable slowly, that tickled her ear in an unusual way. She liked it.

Right now he was looking up into the stairwell, clucking with disapproval and shaking his head.

"How did you two of you ever make it down that horrible staircase? Even I will not use it anymore, or did you not notice that I had put a big metal cover over it?" His eyes seem to twinkle with a little mischief when he mentioned the trapdoor, and Krystle knew, without knowing how, that they were forgiven their transgression and vandalism.

"There's another way in here?" Stacey asked and then poked Krystle in the back, "See, I was right. I told you there was a door down here."

"Ouch! You said a portal to Middle-earth, now stop poking me!" Krystle whispered back, wincing from the poke, which had hit one of her bruises. On the other side of the room, Herman stopped leaning and stood straight, his smile gone.

"You were in that accident last night?" he asked, and his eyes traveled over both of them, while he ignored Stacey's question, seeming only at that moment to notice their hospital garb. "I heard they brought some of the survivors here, to the clinic. How did you two ever find this place?"

"Can we tell you that some other time?" Krystle asked, embarrassed to have to admit to her bad judgment. "I really need to get this crazy kid back to the clinic, and me, too."

"Yes, yes, follow me...?" he said, pausing as if he should remember her name, which he had no way of knowing.

"I'm Krystle," she said. "And this is Stacey."

"Don't tell him our names!" Stacey whispered.

"Very good, Krystle, Stacey." Herman bowed slightly to each of them as he addressed them. "It is a true pleasure to meet both of you." He then turned, pushed at a stone near his shoulder, and stood back as a section of the wall silently swung slightly ajar like a door. He pushed it open even further, which revealed a torch-lit passageway cut into the earth. With another gracious bow, he gestured for them to enter.

"Wowsers," whispered Stacey, but Krystle could not even speak, or react. The whole morning had already taxed her strength, and nerves, almost to the limit of her being able to cope. Her whole left side was a burning throb of pain, her neck spasmed, and her head was already swimming from the shock of the handsome stranger's unexpected arrival.

One thing only was a real reassurance, the swirling shadows of redness that she had seen earlier must have happened when he entered through that door, and were not a sign that she had brain damage. She was still not sure there were no ghosts inside that hidden passage, or worse.

"I'm not going in there," she finally managed to say.

"Do not worry, you do not have to go very far," said Herman gently as he entered the doorway and waved for them to come closer. "There is a better stair right here," he added, pointing to an area within that was hidden from their view. "More practical for those with crutches, I think. Come, see."

When the door first opened in the wall, and Krystle had peered into the eerily-lit cave, what was left of her grip on reality had wavered slightly. Herman's calm and helpful attitude helped, and her world righted itself again, most of the way. Although her aching body protested moving forward, she and Stacey slowly approached the hidden entrance. Now she could see that the passageway stretched further into the distance behind Herman, like a tunnel.

With a nod and a smile, he stood back a few paces, to give them room to see where he was pointing, without coming too close to either of them. The torchlight washing over him gave his skin an odd reddish glow, his honey-colored hair turned a fiery copper, and Krystle was momentarily stunned by how beautiful he looked. She had to tear her eyes from him when Stacey said, "Ooh, look!"

"How do you think we got those big wine barrels down here?" Herman asked. "They would never have fit down that trapdoor."

"Wow, you're right!" Stacey exclaimed. "I never thought of that!"

They were leaning into the doorway, still not sure if they should enter the tunnel-way, and Krystle now saw the stairway that Herman had referred to, just inside the door. It had wide stone steps that led up at a more gentle angle than the trapdoor step-ladder, and a handrail on either side. The stairway turned, so neither of them could tell where it ended.

"Are you sure can get out this way?" Krystle asked shakily, and then realized how silly her question must have sounded. She could not help it, though, as her morning had been a series of wrong turns and she was leery of taking one more and ending up in an even worse situation. Herman by torchlight might be a hottie, but she was not convinced that he was normal, especially considering the hidden underground life he seemed to lead. "Where does it go to up there?"

"Hey, I'd rather know where the rest of this tunnel goes to down here," Stacey interrupted, she was not even paying attention to the stairway. "It's long, I can't see where it ends."

"This stairway leads to a little outbuilding near the cabin," Herman said to Krystle. He had moved closer to them, but still stood at a respectable distance. "You must have noticed it in the front yard, a small garden shed in the corner? Just a few steps from the front gate?"

Numbly, Krystle nodded, vaguely remembering such a structure, or willing enough to believe that she should, although she had not paid very much attention to the overgrown yard at the time.

"And the tunnel?" Now he turned to the teenager. "Well, Stacey, you are a genius and you guessed right, it leads all the way to Middle-earth."

Herman was serious and his eyes suddenly glittered with a mysterious and inscrutable glow as he gazed directly into Krystle's eyes. "Would you like a first-hand tour?"

"That... that's not possible," she replied weakly. Again, his eyes appeared to flicker with a strange inner light, but Krystle convinced herself it was a trick of the torchlight, and that he was enjoying taking advantage of the dramatic setting he had such gullible fans trapped in. She wondered if he deliberately tricked women down there with that line.

"Oh, yes, it is not only possible," he assured her, with his hand on his chest, over his heart, "it is the truth, on my honor. I would love to show you, and then you can judge for yourself."

Although she was sure he was making some kind of personal joke at their expense, Krystle's head began to swim again. If he said anything else, she did not hear him, because there was a loud roaring sound in her head. He, and everything else around him, turned a peculiar shade of gray, and she was certain that she was going to faint.

"I do! I want a tour!" Stacey was nearly jumping up and down in her eagerness, despite her crutches, but to Krystle's numbed senses, the teenager's voice sounded distant and thin. "I knew it! I just knew it!" The grayness seemed to be clouding her eyes, how strange, and now the walls started to sway.

"Krystle! No!" That was Stacey, screaming, would she never be quiet?

Strong arms caught Krystle before she hit the stone floor, lifted her, and carried her. It was embarrassing, she was fine, what was going on? How dare he! She was fine, really, just a little achy, and sleepy. If he would put her down, and let her rest, she would feel better.

"I can walk," she said, as she struggled weakly to wiggle out of Herman's arms. "Put me down, please," she said, but she could not put any force behind her words, and she was suddenly too tired to speak. The stone walls of the wide stairway moved swiftly past her blurry vision. As soon as she got some strength back into her limbs, she would slap him for being so bold.

"Can you keep up, Stacey?" Herman was saying, as if he did not hear Krystle, or care what she said. It was actually easier for her to relax and be carried, for now. In fact, it was very nice. Her whole left side was hurting again, and her head and neck were throbbing, every step Herman took jarred her and made the pain that much more vivid. Maybe she was dying? Anything was possible today. She clenched her jaws to keep from crying out.

Bright, harsh daylight replaced the torchlight, and even Stacey howled from the sharp pain in her eyes. Krystle closed hers tight, and felt the sunlight and fresh air on her face and skin. They were out!

"Open the door," said Herman, and then the daylight was gone, the light was dim, and Krystle could open her eyes. They were back in Tolkien's cabin, again. "Watch those loose floor boards," he said to Stacey.

"I will this time," the teenager said cheerfully. Herman carried Krystle to the lumpy, quilt-covered bed and deposited her on her back. Stacey was standing right next to him, smiling first at him and then down at her.

"I'm the one who should have been carried," she said. "You were lucky."

"Lucky?" Krystle croaked, her lips and tongue were dry and felt gluey inside. She tried to sit up, and was gently pushed back down by Herman.

"Not yet," he said. "Let me help you, okay?"

She stayed still, not exactly giving him permission to do anything, but too tired to argue. Herman clapped his hands together, and rubbed them against each other, while Krystle wondered what kind of a madman he was, after all. Then he leaned over and held his hands over her left side, very close to her but without touching her.

"Can you feel anything?" he asked. "Like heat?"

All she could do was shake her head a little, she felt nothing. Without asking, Herman peeled back the blanket she wore over her hospital gown. Krystle remembered, too late to do anything about it, that she wore nothing underneath the gown. Again, he slapped and rubbed his hands together and had them hover over her. Now she did sense something, very faintly, like a slight warm breeze that moved along her left side.

"Now, can you feel that, yes?" he asked, but with a satisfied tone and a big smile on his face as if he knew she could, even if she did not admit it.

"Is that magic?" Stacey asked. "Are you doing magic on Krystle?"

Herman ignored the teenager, however, as his hands moved, still not touching, up and down Krystle's left side.

"That will not cure you, but it should help," he explained as he stood up straight again. "Would you like to sit up? I think you need a drink of water, yes?"

"Yes, I do, please," said Krystle, as she pushed herself up to a sitting position with her good arm, and leaned her back against the bed's headboard. "Want some water, I mean," she added, while she felt her side. Herman told her to relax and rest, before he left the cabin, and Stacey followed right after him.

Cautiously, Krystle tested her neck, it felt almost good. Herman was right, whatever he did to her with his hands had made the most severe spasming pains ease off to dull, barely perceptible aches. She no longer felt as tired as she had, just moments before, if anything, she felt wide awake and well rested. And thoroughly confused.

What just happened to her? She wished Stacey had stayed with her, then she would have talked her into getting out of here and away from that crazy Herman. More than anything, she was desperate to be out of this cabin, and back in her own bed, in her own home. Forget the clinic, she wanted her mom.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes; she saw Herman's eyes again, the way they had gazed into hers in the cellar, and the strange light that glowed inside of them, deep, deep inside... He spoke.

"Krystle, are you alright?" She gasped and sat up straight, her eyes had been closed, she must have dozed off while sitting there. Herman stood before her, but she was afraid to look at his face, so she pointed to the cast on her broken arm.

"I was just thinking about how long I will have to wear this," she fibbed, for lack of anything else to say. "I don't think I will be able to drive," she added, which was true, even if it did sound silly under the circumstances.

"How does it feel? Your arm?"

"Better, thank you," she said, and hazarded a glance at him. Herman's eyes, kind and concerned, appeared completely normal in the natural light. They were the color of the slate tile in her parent's kitchen, a dusty gray blue.

"You look better, too," said Stacey, she turned to Herman and asked, "Was that magic you did to her?"

"No, no," he protested, laughing, and shaking his head. "That was Reiki, a Japanese healing technique, nothing magical. Have you ever heard this word, Stacey? Reiki? But, I am forgetting we have a thirsty patient here, nurse. Reiki can wait."

Herman and Stacey had returned with a large, metal pitcher full of water. Stacey volunteered to get them some cups, because 'she knew where they were'. When she came back, with a couple of Tolkien's tea cups, she bragged about helping to pump the water into the pitcher from a real well.

As Krystle sipped the cold water, she could feel Herman staring at her. A thousand questions swirled in her head.

"Down there," she said, gesturing at the hole in the floor with her teacup, "You said... did I hear you say... ?"

"He has a tunnel to Middle-earth!" Stacey interrupted. "I was right, I was right, I was..."

"Hush, Stacey," Herman said, but not harshly. "You should never mention such things up here. Now, can I trust you to keep my little secret?"

Now, more than ever, Krystle was convinced Herman was not normal, not in any way, if he really believed he had a tunnel to Middle-earth.

T B C


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Nurse, I do not think that our patient believes me about my tunnel to Middle-earth." Herman stood beside the bed, where Krystle was recovering from her lightheaded episode, and spoke with mock seriousness to Stacey, who stood beside him. "Do you believe me?"

"I don't know, maybe," said Stacey, drawing out the last syllable of 'maybe', as if stalling while waiting for an adequate answer to come to mind. "You could be lying," she concluded with a satisfied nod, and a friendly smile to show that she meant no hard feelings behind her verdict.

Krystle stared at the teenager, incredulous, and even a bit disappointed. After having been swept along all morning, almost against her will, in the energetic teen's wake, it felt like an anchor had suddenly dropped. "It is getting late," Stacey then pointed out, maturely, suddenly a responsible adult who occasionally traveled in disguise as a total lunatic. "We should be getting back."

"I still have to find Chips, too," said Krystle, and she let out her breath slowly, as if a crucial test had been passed. The adventure was over, they were safe, it was time to go home. Why did she feel so let down? They still had to escape a possible madman. She decided a firm approach was best, in case Herman had any ideas about delaying them. "Do you know where the jail is? They have my dog there."

"Yes, I know, I met her," he said cheerfully, as if he always met dogs in local jails. "The boxer, very charming, quite lively." For a moment, Krystle's heart tipped a little, and she fought to steady it. Just because he liked Chips, and made most of her pain go away, and looked like a living god dipped in gold by the torchlight down in his creepy cellar, it did not mean she had to start trusting him.

"Could you tell me how to get there?" She waved in the direction she thought Green Grove lay, unable to see out the window. "Is it far from here?"

In her mind's eyes, she could see herself reuniting with Chips, leading her back to the clinic, and tying her to one of the trees outside, while she delivered Stacey. Once her mind took her within the facility, and made her consider whatever might be coming to her from local law enforcers, she changed her mind. Better to wait, at least her dog was safe, and already in jail, waiting for her. They might end up being cell-mates.

"My mom's probably having a cow by now," said Stacey, a teenager again. Now that her successful discovery of the portal to Middle-earth had been accomplished, she seemed to have lost heart for any further explorations. A little late, thought Krystle, but at least she would not have to try and drag her back by her hair.

"A cow?" Herman laughed. He moved toward the nearest window, and peered out, standing still as stone, as if to hear a sound that could only be heard if one was motionless, and seemed to listen carefully. Krystle and Stacey stayed silent, watching him. He kept his back to them and said, "Your parents are still asleep, they will not be to the clinic for at least another hour, I would say. It is still quite early."

"What if the nurses at the clinic called them?" Krystle asked. She was sure their empty beds would have set off alarms. The nurse had just gone to get her some pain medication; surely she must have noticed when she got back that she and Stacey were gone. He had not answered her question about the jail, either, and she found that suspicious. What was he trying to pull?

"No, they have not called her parents, they are not worried about her, or you." Herman turned, and smiled. He was very confident. "They know that you are both safe with me."

"How do they know that?" Stacey asked, awed. "Is there some kind of telepathy going on between you?" To illustrate, her fingers described invisible waves that traveled through the air. Krystle was glad for the teenager's outspoken nature, for once. It was the same question she had, but did not want to put voice to because she did not believe in such things.

"I confess, I expected to find you here. The nurses at the clinic sent me after the two of you, to make sure you did not get lost," he said quietly. "And they asked me to keep you entertained until it was time for your release from their care this morning. They said you were both a bit disruptive, is that so? Big fans of 'The Lord of the Rings', and curious about our little town."

Krystle sat back against the wall, dumbfounded, and felt odd, like the wind had been knocked out of her. Stacey, however, seemed to get a second wind, perhaps from what was left of Krystle's exhaled breath, and her eyes sparkled again while she giggled.

"We were looking for Orlando Bloom," she explained, plainly tickled that she was famous with the nurses at the clinic as a disruptive force. "We meant to find him, anyway. We sort of got sidetracked."

"Does that mean we are a chore for you?" Krystle blurted out, irritated by the talk about the movie actor and feeling slightly stung by the 'you were both a bit disruptive' comment. It was difficult to reconcile her two versions of the man; Herman was a glorified babysitter who just happened to have a tunnel to Middle-earth in his cellar.

"They had a feeling you might end up here," he answered, as if that should be explanation enough. "Although I do not believe they anticipated your dismantling my floor to become trapped in the cellar, and they wanted me to feed you."

"Not those digestive biscuits, I hope!" cried Stacey.

"Well, nurse," Herman said, back to his serious bedside manner, "they are very healthy, those digestive biscuits." Stacey's face fell and he laughed, adding, "But, have no fear! I have much better fare than that. You did not see my basket on the counter there, by the stove?"

Neither of them had noticed it, and he stepped across the room and fetched the tightly woven wicker basket, set it on the table, and removed its white cloth cover with the flourish of a stage magician. "Breakfast," he announced. "After we eat," he said casually, toward Krystle, "we will have time to make a visit to Chips before we head back to the clinic. How does that sound?"

"Ah, that sounds... good," Krystle answered, caught off-guard. Once it sank in fully, his remark nettled her, if only because she was prepared to fight her way out of the cabin and now it sounded as if he was going to escort them out.

Stacey, suddenly remembering that she was 'starving', ignored both of them and wasted no time inspecting the contents of the basket, while she helped Herman empty it. She oohed and aahed over each offering, her mouth practically drooling. There were plump brown muffins and flaky looking pastries -- Krystle guessed these were from the bakery with the tempting aromas -- as well as several types of fresh fruit, including a basket of fat blue berries, and some eggs, which turned out to be hard boiled.

Expertly now, Stacey crutched around the cabin as she helped set the table with the dishes and silverware from Tolkien's shelves. The morning's sun had reached inside the east-facing windows and the little cabin was warmer now, and, after she complained loudly about being hot, she shed her blanket to move unhindered. She found the salt and pepper for the eggs and Herman had packed a dish of butter for the muffins. He refilled the water pitcher.

At first, Krystle felt a little left out from the domestic bustle. She was still not sure she trusted Herman, no matter who sent him to babysit, and his comment about them being 'trapped' in the cellar was beginning to bother her.

She argued with him, silently, inside of her head, that she had not felt trapped until he appeared. Without waiting to be asked to join them, she draped her blanket over her shoulders, not easy with her casted arm, brought her cup to the table, and sat down before they did. Something else had come to mind, and she felt like a detective solving an important murder mystery.

"You know how you just said you aren't using telepathy to communicate with anyone?" she asked. The question froze Herman in place just as he was removing the bucket of dead flowers from the table. The unfortunate centerpiece showered petals to the carpet-like pile of them already littered on the table's top, as he stood like a statue and listened. "Then how did you know that Stacey's parents are still asleep?"

"Oh, that is quite easy to explain," the statue said, animated again. Instead of answering her, he carried the bucket out the door and set it down on the porch. He stood there, brilliantly lit by the sun, and pointed into a distance at something that she could not see.

"Old Missus, the innkeeper, is not up and about as yet," Herman said. "She always gets a good fire started to make coffee, when she decides that it is time for her guests to rise, and you can see the smoke from her chimney." He returned into the cabin and sat at the table, shaking his head, and continued. "She thinks electricity is too new-fangled for proper hospitality." He chuckled about it as he buttered himself a muffin.

Over breakfast, Stacey chatted about the accident, the clinic, and their hunt for Orlando Bloom. She had many questions, but Herman somehow managed to evade them and instead talked more about 'Old Missus', the town's only innkeeper, and her eccentric ways. Krystle stayed quiet, trying not to be charmed by the jolly host and his delicious food, until he explained how he came to own the cabin.

"When I learned of the estate auction," he told them, "I made the Tolkien family an offer on the cabin, with all of its contents, as long as I could keep the Professor's personal property that he left in his desk, with the promise that I would preserve all of it, as I have done."

For once, Krystle wished she had the same outspoken temperament as her teenage sidekick. She would have definitely said 'wowsers!', or words to that effect, after learning this obviously young man could afford such a piece of valuable property.

"It must have cost a lot," she said, in case he was waiting to hear some praise over his purchasing power, it was in her nature to believe that of any man. She waited for him to swell with pride and boast a little, then she could start despising him.

"Oh, not really, real estate here was more than dirt-cheap, and at that time there was no real market for Tolkien's personal property. He was not commercial. His family had an intermediary that traveled here, a barrister, who found nothing profitable in shipping the contents of the cabin to Great Britain, except for his papers, of course. Those were judged to be of some value, but for my promise to archive them properly, they would have never allowed any of them to be sold off."

"Archive?" Stacey asked.

"What you see here in the cabin, his writings in the desk and on the wall, are mostly all duplicates, I am sad to say. The real documents are locked up in a safe place, protected the same way all important pieces of history should be."

"Even the desk?" Krystle asked, a bit disturbed to be taken in by an imitation. "Is that a copy, too?"

"No, that is real, a real treasure in itself," Herman said as he left the table and approached the desk, reverentially, and then stroked it, lovingly. "It is an old campaign desk from World War One, probably used by a commander of significant rank. Tolkien's family would never have parted with it if it was his own souvenir from the war."

He returned to the table and sat again, adding, "An ardent fan had made a gift of the desk to the Professor, and he never knew where to put it. He said that it was possible he had this cabin built to have a proper place for it."

"What made you so special?" Krystle asked, irked by his refusal to brag. "Why did the family trust you?"

"They knew me, a little, probably from the Professor's letters, as someone who appreciated the value of his works," he replied, and then let a little mischief into his face as he added, "And I managed to make a convincing argument about the hazards of fragile documents enduring overseas travel."

"Did Mister Tolkien know you wanted to dig a tunnel under his cabin?" Stacey asked; up to that point she had shown no interest in the conversation.

"If I told you that the Professor knew of the tunnel," Herman directed the question at Krystle instead of Stacey, "Would you believe me?"

"What did he know?" Krystle asked. "And how can you prove it?"

There was something terribly wrong with Herman's story, his whole story, not any particular part of it, and she could not figure out what it was. He seemed sincere, humble, and not in any hurry to murder either of them, or force them back down into the cellar against their will, yet she had a nagging sensation that an important fact was missing. A clue.

Across the table, Stacey had looked sleepy, after she was finished with her big breakfast, or bored with the conversation up to then, but now she sat up a little. "Did Mister Tolkien ever use the tunnel?" she put in, with a stifled yawn. "Is that how he learned about Middle-earth?"

"You have to make a choice," answered Herman, leaning forward, his slate colored gaze fixed on Krystle. "We only have enough time to do one of two activities. If you want proof," he turned to Stacey, "and if you want to know as much as the Professor knew, then you must both follow me into the tunnel. Otherwise, we will go visit Chips, and then you will return to the clinic. Which will it be?" He sat back in his chair and waited.

"Hold it," protested Krystle. She was confused and feeling overheated. If the hospital garment she wore was not practically transparent, she would have gladly shed the blanket to cool off. There was a breeze coming through the door, which Herman had left standing open, and it felt nice on her bare legs. A trickle of sweat dribbled down her back, tickling her.

Although she was eager to return to her normal life again, and real clothes, when Herman had stared at her with his pretty eyes, for a moment, she had been prepared to follow him anywhere. Her reasonable side fought back, just in time. "If I go into the tunnel again," she pointed out, "then I have to believe you first, right? Because won't we end up in Middle Earth?"

"Not necessarily," he answered. "You will just have to trust me, I think. But, no matter," he added, casually, while he began to pick up their plates from where he sat, his long arms reaching easily over the table's top, and stack them neatly, "let us go visit Chips and get you back..."

"No!" Stacey shouted. "I trust you! I want to go!" She grabbed her crutches, stood up, and crutched to the door. "Krystle can find her own way back to the clinic."

"Wait a minute!" Krystle shouted toward the runaway teen and then she glared toward Herman. "Here we go again, I hope you're happy." But he was not there. Somehow, he had left his chair and was blocking Stacey's exit at the door.

"We have to clean up our mess first, nurse," he said kindly to the teenager, as he lightly grasped her shoulders and redirected her inside. "The mice will have a grand feast, otherwise."

"Are you going back to the cellar with us, then?" Stacey asked Krystle, who, still sitting at the table, had started to wrap up the unfinished food, while she cautiously scanned the floor and lifted her bare feet up to rest on the chair's seat. "Or are you going to go rat me out at the clinic?"

"Give me a moment," Krystle said, absorbed completely in making sure there was not a crumb of food left on the table, or at least pretended to be, while she struggled to decide how to handle the rebellious teenager and the disturbingly captivating Herman, with his wild story.

Privately, although she would have cheerfully bashed Stacey about the head with one of her crutches, Krystle marveled at her adolescent resiliency. Apparently it had been hunger, and not a sudden infusion of adult-like maturity, which had provoked the teenager's earlier desire to end their adventure and return to her parents. Someone had to look after the child.

On the other hand, if Herman was not a madman killer, and Krystle was having a difficult time sustaining her suspicions of him, what was the harm in having another peek in the tunnel? She felt stronger now, could she outrun him if he tried to harm either of them once he had them in the cellar again?

"If I go back down there with you..." she began to ask Herman. Stacey sucked her breath in and her eyes widened, so Krystle said to her, with a finger raised in the air for patience, "I said 'if', mind you." She turned back to Herman. "How long will it take to prove what you say?"

"It should only be a matter of minutes, Krystle," replied Herman. He sat again and gestured for Stacey to sit also. "You should not go if you feel forced into it, please, take some time to decide. The morning is still young for us." He leaned back in his chair as if he had all the time in the world to wait for her answer, and grinned. Stacey, bouncing in her seat, started to speak, but he shushed her with, "This is not your decision."

There was still something mystifying about the situation, about Herman, and this cabin, that nagged at Krystle, however, it was more like missing a piece to a puzzle than a feeling of being in danger. He seemed quite willing to agree to whatever she decided, which was good, but even if she declined his invitation, there was still the willful Stacey to think about. She would never forgive herself if anything awful happened that she could have prevented. Although she could not expect him to tell her the truth, she had one more question.

"Have you ever taken anyone else into your tunnel?"

"Yes, many people," Herman answered and then grinned even wider at Stacey. "Including your friend, Mister Bloom."

"Orlando?" Stacey shot out of her chair again. "Let's go!"

"No, no," Herman shook his head. "He is not there now, although he has been a recent visitor, that rumor you heard at the clinic was true."

"Can you prove that, too?" Krystle asked.

"Of course."

There was no sane reason to capitulate, and even the appeal of following in a famous movie star's footsteps was not enough to tempt her, but Krystle finally figured out a way to continue the adventure, and not disappoint Stacey, after all. It would all depend on how Herman reacted to her next reply.

"I will go down there with you," Krystle said. "But, we have to go get Chips out of jail first, since you seem to think we have so much time. I won't go back down to that cellar without my dog." She turned to Stacey. "And you aren't going without me, okay? So, that means you will have to go with us to the jail, first."

"No need," said Herman. "You can both wait here while I fetch Chips." He stood, picked up the re-packed basket, and bowed slightly toward Krystle. "An excellent idea, I should have thought of it first." Before she could answer him; he was gone out the door.

"Looks like we're going to visit Middle-earth, Stacey." Krystle's voice shook slightly. "I can't believe I just said that."

"Yeah, but you did say it," giggled Stacey. "And we are going."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter seven**

While waiting for Herman to return with her dog, Krystle, thinking of the mice he had mentioned, suggested that they clean up the dirty dishes from breakfast. There was a basin-shaped pan hanging from a hook near the stove and Stacey filled it with some of the water from the pitcher to rinse the plates in. There was no hot water or soap, so they decided to just wipe them off with the dishrag and set them out to air dry.

It felt like they had only begun their self-appointed chore when Herman returned with Chips, which suited Krystle. Not only was she happy to see her dog again, all wriggling and full of joy to be reunited, but she could avoid answering an embarrassing question Stacey had asked while they gathered the dishes from the table.

"Don't you think Herman is hot?" the teenager had asked, with a dreamy tone of voice that indicated she was only asking for agreement to her conclusion. She had a goofy smile on her face, too.

"Hot?" Krystle had answered, with as much of an air of neutrality on the subject as she could pack into her one word answer. What kind of question was that for the teenager to ask? For a few minutes, she pretended to be too busy with the dishes to respond, and then added, "In what particular way do you find him hot, may I ask?" But it was at that moment when Herman returned, and the uncomfortable topic was dropped.

For Stacey and Chips, it was love at first sight. They were best buddies right away, and the partnership was sealed after Stacey dove back into the packed breakfast basket to retrieve some left-over bits of muffin for the dog. Krystle thanked Herman and tried not to think of him as 'hot', but it was hard.

"Did you have to bail her out?" asked Stacey. The dog danced between her and Krystle with happy licks and lots of bouncing.

"Nah," said Herman cheerfully, as he handed the leash to Krystle. Chips was ready for a good walk, so they were happy to see me.

Krystle noticed that her dog had the same thin leash on that she had been wearing the night before, and she marveled that it was still intact; it was so flimsy. Stacey made sure that Chips had a drink of water, to wash down the left-over muffin, with what was left of the water in the pitcher.

"Thank you for bringing her," Krystle told Herman. It means a lot to me, I feel... better now. She caught herself before she said 'safer', as she had intended. Somehow, it seemed unfair. Herman had been nothing but kind and gracious to her.

It was, indeed, my pleasure, he replied with a smile so charming that she felt her heart flip.

He was either very confident or very clever. It was encouraging that whoever was running the jail in Green Grove had let him have her dog, they must trust him. She hoped. What if he had sneaked in, he was so silent and quick, and stolen Chips?

"What did you tell the people at the jail?" she asked. "Did you tell them where we are?"

"They knew," he answered. "We had better hurry," he said to Stacey, "the morning is getting late. You had better put your wrap back over your shoulders, the tunnels are chilly."

After dropping Chip's leash, in order to use her only good arm, Krystle helped the teenager with her blanket. With a slap on his thigh, Herman summoned the dog to his side and was out the door. Stacey gave a yelp and hurried out the door after them, her blanket flapping like a cape.

At the threshold, Krystle hesitated, and then stood and blinked like a mole. The front porch was the same as before, only sunnier, and she had to squint at first as her eyes adjusted to the clear day.

Stacey was an excellent guide.

"Back over there is where the well pump is." Using a crutch as a pointer, she waved at a tall thin shed around the side of the house as she chased after Herman, right after she had leaped off the front porch. Then she paused and aimed her crutch straight ahead. "Right in there is where the stairs are."

In front of them, nearly hidden by overgrown vines and bushes, was a short square-shaped shed. It was charmingly designed to resemble a miniature barn, with fading red paint. Herman and Chips were standing in front of the doors, waiting.

"You know what? I know why I don't remember seeing this little shed here this morning," Krystle said to Herman, who was holding some vines aside from the door. It's hard to see it behind all these weeds. Chips licked her hand. "Some guard dog you are," she mumbled as she took up the leash.

"I like to let the plants grow wild for the tourist season," replied Herman mildly. "After the first frosts, most of it will die back, then I will clear it and we will have a bonfire." While he spoke, he led them into the dark interior of the shed, he had to stoop a little to get through the door, and they all three, plus the dog, stood and looked down at the wide stone stairs.

"Tourist season?" Krystle doubted many people came to see Tolkien's cabin, if the run-down condition of the place was any indication, unless Herman conducted his tours for free. In her mind, however, the California tourist season was in the summer, not the fall. "Isn't tourist season over with now?"

"In this last summer, we did have a few visitors to the cabin, from the outside, although not too many now that the movies are not as popular. The fall is when the real tourist season begins."

It was beginning to seem that everything Herman said just made Krystle have more questions. Just as she was about to give voice to one, he would say something else even more perplexing.

At that moment, Stacey complained, loudly, that it would be a lot harder to go down the stairs with her crutches, because she could not hold on to the banister, than it would be to scoot down on her behind. Patiently, Herman took her spare crutch and carried it for her, after warning her that the stone steps were not as forgiving to the flesh as the wooden steps were. She still complained, but she managed.

It did not seem to matter what Krystle wanted to do. Chips had already decided that she was supposed to follow Herman anywhere, at any price to life and limb, and practically pulled both of them down the stairs.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, and in one piece, Krystle no longer cared about discussing tourists or seasons or overgrown plant life. The door to the wine cellar was still open, and the lights still on inside of it, which was comforting. Even though there were torches to light the way, the tunnel loomed ominously in the opposite direction, seeming to stretch into the distance for an incalculable length.

"Are you sure this will only take a few minutes?" she asked.

"Trust me," said Herman. "Have I lied to you yet?"

Immediately, Krystle thought of how he had said earlier that they were trapped in the cellar, which she thought was a disputable point, but it was not exactly a lie. It was more a point of view. In an effort to keep her eyes off of him, now that he was lit by torchlight once again, and his hair seemed to give off sparks for some reason, she pretended to ponder his words as she stared into the passageway.

The tunnel's length was difficult to tell, the torches were located only a few yards in and then the rest fell into shadow. Earlier, she had been too lightheaded to appreciate such fine details. She seemed to recall it stretching for miles. Now she was not so sure, she just had to trust him.

"Alright," she said, not exactly answering Herman. "Let's get going."

"It looks dark in there," said Stacey.

"We will carry these." Herman took a torch from the wall, handed it to Krystle, and then took another for himself. "Come, follow me. It is not as far as you think." He took off with long strides, and Stacey and Chips practically ran to keep up. Krystle tugged firmly at the dog's leash and then deliberately lagged behind by a few paces.

As he went ahead of them, Herman touched his torch to the wall, and another torch that was attached there burst into flame, making the tunnel suddenly flicker with eerie shadows. He continued this trick, lighting torch after torch while Krystle and Stacey followed as quickly as they could. Finally they stopped trying to keep up with him, slowed to a walk, and looked around them.

If there had been any fear in Krystle about being trapped in a cave- in, the structure of the tunnel eased her mind. The arched walls were sturdily constructed of enormous close-set stones, and patches of different minerals in some of them would glow or glitter when they passed by, making Stacey stop dead in her tracks more than once. She had to touch the sparkling places, and she speculated over whether or not they were veins of pure gold.

"I wonder how they did that?" She pointed upwards and commented on the way the stones continued from the wall on either side of them overhead and made the ceiling, perfectly balanced on each other.

"Gosh, I don't know," answered Krystle. "It's a big job and it must have taken a long time to do. Years, in fact. Why, just to dig all of the dirt out of this tunnel first would take many many... hey". She paused in her speech and then gasped.

Stacey, barely paying attention, was cooing over a new streak of something shiny in one of the stones, which she identified as 'baby diamonds'.

"Wow," Krystle said, glancing back and then ahead and finally straight up at the ceiling. "I know what this place is. Of course." She stood stock still for a moment, Chips whined a little and tugged at the leash, as the previous unworldly feeling of the tunnel resolved itself into a practical passageway beneath the earth.

"What? What is it?" Stacey stood next to her and stared up at the ceiling in imitation of Krystle, as if the answer might be there. Chips gave up trying to follow Herman and plopped herself down between them.

"This must be an old mine shaft," explained Krystle. There must have been a gold mine, or something like that, around here. I have been in an abandoned mine before. Remember I told you my dad took me to an old mining town where he used to go fishing? Those mines go for miles underground." To prove it to herself, she held her torch to the ground to check for tell tale tracks made for the rolling carts that must have traveled here, but the well trodden earth below them told no such tale. She did not even see footprints.

"They built those old gold mines this good?" asked Stacey, skeptical. "How could they find gold if they covered everything all up with these rock walls?"

"Mining gold was just an example, the tunnel could have been used for mining something else, but I think someone else put these stone walls up, tore up the tracks, put in those torches. The mine I was in before had big wooden beams and dirt walls."

Actually, the old mine that she and her father had visited, all those years ago, did not resemble this tunnel at all, except that it was dug underground. It was dusty, narrow, run down, some of the large wooden beams sagged alarmingly, and they had not explored inside it very far because the air was stifling. This did not stop Krystle from feeling now that she had solved an important puzzle.

With Chips leading the way, they continued along more slowly now and quietly contemplated their surroundings. Krystle began to better appreciate the workmanship of whoever had taken the time to wall up this old mine shaft with the large, fitted stones. Such an intricate job must have taken a long time, she guessed. A really long time.

The final veil of clouds cleared in her mind as she realized, stunned, the flaw in Herman's story about the cabin. The nagging sensation that had been plaguing her ever since, like smoldering embers, suddenly burst into flames.

"Where did Herman go?" she asked out loud, even though she knew that Stacey would have no more information on his whereabouts than she did. We have to catch up with him, I have to ask him something.

Abruptly, the tunnel curved, and when they rounded the bend, the torches were no longer necessary. Natural light spilled out of an unseen opening near the ceiling in a great splash before them, and illuminated another set of steps. As they approached, Krystle could tell the light was dim, filtered, not actual daylight, but bright enough in the overall darkness to be impressive.

"We are there," whispered Stacey dramatically when they both finally stood in that light, at the bottom of the steps. "These must be the stairs to Middle-earth." Just like the stairs at the other end of the tunnel, these took a turn at a landing, and it was not possible to see where they led.

"Are you up there, Herman?" Krystle called. Stacey did not wait for an answer, nor did she seem daunted by having no one to hold a crutch in order that she might use the banister; instead she crutched up the steps expertly.

"Come on up," Herman said, sounding very close, like he was waiting around the first landing. "There is nothing to be afraid of."

The presumed opening to Middle-earth, at the top of the last set of steps, appeared very ordinary for a portal. There was a simple wooden door, very normal looking, which stood open and Herman was just inside of the doorway, waiting for them. He stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. Krystle did not forget what she had to ask him, but the question could wait, for now. She expected to exit the tunnel into the open air, but they were entering a building instead.

"Middle-earth is an office?" Krystle stood in a very ordinary room, lit by tiny high-set windows, where a large, multi-drawer desk dominated the small space. A quick glance over the top of it revealed only such worldly items as a blotter, a cup full of pencils, sheets of blank paper, and a business ledger.

There were some cabinets, some shelves with books and ledgers, all commonplace in appearance. If there was anything unusual at all about the place, it was in the lack of dust and clutter she would have expected to find in any business office, in any world. Herman might be shaggy in appearance, but he was tidy in his habits so far.

"Do you remember that I told you I have proof?" The tidy office- keeper opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a wooden box, painted green with silver hinges. He used a small key, hanging on a hook above the desk, to open the box and within were some loose papers, tightly wound paper scrolls tied with ivory-colored ribbons, and several thin, flat books.

"Here is one of the Professor's actual journals, the one that you might have seen back in the cabin is only a copy." After laying it on the desktop, he opened the book up to a page marked with a ribbon, and tapped on the page. Krystle read, "Have been through the tunnel with Hirdaur again, he is such a pleasant fellow, and for breakfast we had poached eggs..."

"Hirdaur?" Krystle lifted her eyes to Herman and scanned the side of his face carefully. "Do you know who Mister Tolkien talking about?"

"Me, of course," he answered. He turned to face her, smiled warmly, and his dusky blue eyes pierced right into her soul.

"Your name is Hirdaur?" Stacey asked.

"That is my name here," he told her. "You can still call me Herman."

Krystle, a bit flustered from Herman's gaze, and his reply, tore her eyes away from his, picked up the journal from the desk, and pretended to read it. Her heart was pounding again, unaccountably, and she wished she could sit down in the large leather chair that was tucked under the desk, between the drawers.

After her vision cleared enough for her to actually focus, she noticed something, another clue, which finally gave her a chance to ask the question she had just thought of in the tunnel. The date on the journal page was in May of nineteen sixty two. She swiftly calculated the difference in years, math was not her strongest subject, but that was almost fifty years ago.

"How old are you?" She finally had the nerve to look in his face again as she asked him. "Really?" This was the one part of his story that did not add up with the rest. Krystle may not be an expert on telling how old a man was, everyone over about age forty seemed old to her, but she had never met anyone over age fifty, which Herman had to be, with such a youthful face as his was.

"Even if you were a still a little boy when Tolkien wrote that," she added, when he did not answer her immediately, "you would have to be almost sixty by now."

"Krystle, I wish that you would come in there with me," he replied. Gently, he had removed the journal from her hands, and now he gestured to a door on the other side of the room. "I want you to see Middle Earth."

"I'm ready!" cried Stacey. "I don't care what your name is or how old you are!"

Herman set the book on the desk, and went to the door. "I will explain more after you have seen it with your own eyes." He opened it, and Stacey crutched through and let out a noise that was either one of mystification or disappointment, or both mingled.

"It's just a stupid store," she informed Krystle, who joined her in the dimly lit interior of what appeared to be a novelty shop, of the kind found in theme parks, where every item was based on a certain theme. The theme of this store was obviously Middle-earth, judging by the items on the display shelves and artwork on the walls.

There was a lot of fantasy artwork, but most dominant were large and small carvings of Elves, Dwarves, Wizards, and dragons. Propped against one wall were replicas of swords, daggers, and axes. On the walls hung paintings, or perhaps they were just posters, of various landscapes and locales that were recognizable from the Lord of the Rings' movies, and some that were not.

Among them, Krystle saw a hobbit hole interior, a single mallorn tree in a glade filled with tiny white flowers, and one tall tower. There were landscapes she did not recognize, but they were breathtakingly beautiful. Stacey squealed when she found an autographed photo of Orlando Bloom on a part of one wall that featured the movie's actors and their characters.

"Welcome to my store, Middle Earth Art and Collectibles," said Herman, or Hirdaur, with a chuckle. He pointed to a large hand painted sign on one wall, where the name of the store, as he had just said it, was written in large, shapely letters. Under the title, in smaller letters, were the words, 'used junque'.

"This is the store with the necklace," said Stacey, only a little interested, but not sounding as happy as she had been while rushing up the last steps. Krystle was completely mystified. Was the whole tunnel experience just part of a practical joke? They would walk out the front door and back to the clinic, wearing their crazy hospital garb, and the whole town would know how they got there.

"You're kidding, right?" Krystle turned on Herman, angry. "This is what you called Middle-earth? Very funny joke. Come on, Chips," She did not wait for an answer, instead she headed for the front door.

"I'm coming, too," Stacey said, just as Krystle yanked the door open. A bell attached to the top jingled merrily.

"Oh," said Krystle as she stood and stared out the door. Stacey pushed past her and stopped in her tracks, almost falling over, and gasped.

"Wowsers," she managed to croak.

"Welcome to Middle-earth," said Herman, or Hirdaur, behind them. "I told you that you could trust me."

_To be continued_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter nine**

Before Krystle stepped foot out of Herman's store, she was prepared to see the little town of Green Grove in broad daylight at last. At this time of day, it would have to be more viewable than when she and Stacey had been creeping about the wooden sidewalks before dawn. On the other hand, considering the scanty way she was dressed, she hoped that the village streets were still sleepy, and empty.

Inwardly calculating the distance between the town and the clinic, she figured that not too many people would notice her and Stacey, before they crossed the bridge. She pulled the blanket she still wore a bit more tightly around herself, not an easy task with Chip's leash in hand, and a cast on her other arm, before she exited Herman's chintzy store in anger.

Also, she expected some more blinding sunlight, and the blinking pain, which would at least feel warm. Instead she walked out directly into a cool glade of extremely tall trees, perhaps the largest she had ever seen. They were redwood trees, not the firs she had been told grew here, and that she remembered seeing.

The redwoods grew so close together that their canopy made a green-tinged misty atmosphere of constant shade. The damp smell of mulch and wet timber filled her nostrils. Enormous ferns grew at the feet of the trees and everything else was covered with moss. The unexpected forest was unearthly, yet familiar; she had visited parks along the coast where redwoods still grew.

Here and there, a random golden finger of light stabbed down into a hazy clearing, revealing other sorts of plants and bushes that could only grow in just such a sunny spot. Silence filled the air, except for the occasional drip of water, the sound of the river chuckling to itself, and the chirping sounds of small birds. Chips sneezed loudly a few times, as if her nose was as unprepared for the change in their world as all of Krystle's senses had been.

A single clear thought filled her head; 'This is the forest primeval'. From where such an idea came, she did not know, and all she could do was stare about her.

What happened to Green Grove? There were none of the normal sounds of a town nearby, as Krystle tried to reason out how the tunnel could have led them between the forest and the buildings. But how did they end up back inside of the same store they had been in front of last night? Unless there was more than one way out?

Head spinning, she turned around and headed back into Middle Earth Art and Collectibles, in an effort to restore her basic sense of reality, but the building she had just stepped out of was gone. Even the door, or an opening where the door should have been, was now set inside the enormous trunk of a towering redwood. There was no longer a door-knob, or window glass, just a cut out opening, and a yawning dark hole.

The wooden sidewalk was still there, although it was more a winding trail than a regular walkway for businesses. The street was gone, and the rest of Green Grove was missing, too.

"Herman?" After one short peek into the hole where the missing store's door should have been, Krystle had closed her eyes. Resolutely, she refused to open them until she got some answers. "This is Middle-earth? The real place? Like in the movies?"

"No, Krystle, Middle-earth is not like in the movies," he replied. She jumped a little when he spoke, she could tell that he was very close to her, right at her elbow, but she had not heard him move closer. In her current state, his silent ways were even more unnerving.

"But these trees," she opened her eyes and gave the forest one more close inspection before continuing, "these are redwoods, not mallorns, right?"

"Yes, you are right," said Herman. "These are not mellyrn," he added, gently correcting her. "Those were a unique species of tree in all of old Middle-earth, as these trees are to the new Middle-earth."

"New Middle-earth?"

"As fans of the Professor's work, you must already know that all of the races in Middle-earth, who lived past the fourth age, protected all of the trees, and with as much care as you worldly mortals care for each other's children." Herman smiled up at the redwoods as if they were friends. "For years, the trees that are hidden here have remained safe under our protection. These are the last of the great giants, the mighty Sequoia, older than the oldest, and filled with the wisdom of ages."

"Do you talk to them?" asked Stacey. She had been silent since they had stepped out of the store and had gawked about her at the forest in awe, totally ready to be in another world and happy to be there. "And do they talk back to you?"

"Of course."

"What do they say?"

"It is closer to say that these trees sing," said Herman, "although at times they sigh, rather than talk. They sing of how happy they are to be here, safe, but they mourn the loss of their larger family, especially the first born in other regions further north, and nearer the ocean."

Herman explained how these great trees were once the only kind of tree that grew in this part of the world, long before man walked among them, and they knew each other by name. Their kind spread up and down the Pacific coastline and inland to the mountains. Stacey, enthralled up to that point, wrinkled her forehead in doubt.

"But, how could they talk to other trees so far away?"

"The wind," said Herman. "Without the wind, the trees would have no voice. They love a big storm for it allows them to roar, and be heard for many miles. They send messages along from tree to tree, or they would, if so many were not missing in between."

"Hirdaur?" It was an unfamiliar voice that came from somewhere near them, but from above. Chips let out a soft whine and stared upwards. Krystle and Stacey craned their necks to see up into the tree that the dog was pointing her nose at, and they saw another man peeking out at them.

Unlike Herman, he had dark hair, and it fell to his elbows. He laughed when he realized he had been spotted and jumped down to the forest floor, landing gently on his feet, like a cat. He came no closer, however, and stood still, smiling and silent.

"Will you ladies please excuse me?" Herman waited until both Krystle and Stacey nodded 'yes', both still a bit too stunned by the strange man's appearance to speak, before leaving them. Chips, who had sat at Krystle's feet, stood up to follow, until tugged back into a sitting position.

"Stay here, silly pooch," whispered Krystle. "You are supposed to be protecting me." Chips licked her hand, apologetically, but still whined and stared longingly in Herman's direction.

This long-haired man that had jumped out of the tree was not dressed like Herman; instead he wore a dull green tunic that reached to his thighs, and what appeared to be skin-tight leather pants, or else he had green-colored flesh. He wore soft moccasins and he reminded Krystle of a Native American Indian brave, only he was missing war paint and a feather tucked into his glossy dark hair.

While the two men spoke, Stacey sidled up to Krystle and Chips, with a smug grin on her face.

"I was right, I was right," she said in a sing-song voice, but quietly, as if she had too much respect for her surroundings to be overly irritating. "Aren't you glad now that you followed me down the hole, at least?"

"I'm still not sure," answered Krystle honestly, while she watched Herman talk to the handsome stranger. She changed her mind about him and decided that he was costumed as Robin Hood, or one of his Merry Men. Maybe this was a troupe of actors, who lived in trees, and they put on live performances.

There was, of course, another glaringly obvious answer to who, or what, the stranger was. But Krystle was not ready to consider it seriously, not until she had exhausted all other reasonable explanations. Stacey did not have the same concerns.

"Do you think that guy Herman is talking with is an elf?" she asked. "Because I do."

"An elf? Really? You think so?" Krystle glanced back over at the men and cocked her head sideways to see past Herman, as if she had to take a closer look at the stranger before she would commit to anything. They were still talking.

"Well, yeah," answered Stacey. "I mean, he is dressed like one and all, what else could he be? I wonder what they are talking about."

Krystle could not hear them and she hoped they were not planning anything funny. For security, she crouched down next to Chips, who was not acting in the least bit concerned about their new surroundings, or oddly dressed strangers that hopped out of trees.

Hugging the dog with her good arm, Krystle gazed up at the trees again, at last accepting them for what they were, and tried to come to terms with how she felt. One thing she did not feel was 'at home'. In fact, she felt out of place, clumsy, and hungry for paved streets, concrete sidewalks, buildings, anything else man-made, instead of green growing things, to lay her eyes on.

If Middle-earth, or New Middle-earth, was only a bunch of old, drippy trees, then she wondered if the trouble they were both surely in would be worth it, when they finally returned to the real world. Would Stacey's parents not press charges against her even if, or especially if, they told the complete truth about where they had been?

'We were just hanging out in an enchanted forest with a guy named Herman who talks to trees and his weird tree-climbing friend.' The thought made her slap her hand to her face, she wanted to go home. The dark-haired stranger left suddenly, melting into the shadows, and Herman returned to them.

"Herman, er, Hirdaur?" Krystle stood again, but kept Chip close to her.

"What is it? Please forgive the interruption," he said. "And you can still call me Herman."

"Yes, whatever your name is, as much as I would love to stay here and explore this... nice place, we really can't stay." Krystle would have added, 'especially dressed like this,' but as there were not crowds of people staring at her, she no longer had that for an excuse. Instead she said, "Stacey must get back to the clinic, her parents have to be waking up by now. You can't tell me they won't be worried about her disappearing."

"Do you trust me now, Krystle?" That strange glow was in his eyes again, only this time it did not frighten her. She shrugged, confused.

"Honestly? I, well, it is hard to say how I feel about you, or about being here. I wasn't expecting anything like this to happen, see?"

"If you believe nothing else I have said, or will say, believe this." He took her by the shoulders, his fingers not gripping, as if to steady her, and he smiled so sweetly that she had no choice but to smile back at him, but she did not agree to anything. He continued, "You have nothing to worry about now, your time is standing still there for you."

"What does that mean?" Normally, she would have shook off his hands, but they felt good there on her shoulders. As long as he was touching her, he felt more real to her, somehow, and that was reassuring.

"No matter what happens here now," he explained, "or no matter how long we stay here, when we do return, it will be at the same time in your world as we left it."

"I have to believe you, I think."

"Good, Krystle, you will have a much more enjoyable time if you do." He turned to Stacey. "Are you enjoying Middle-earth, nurse?"

For a while, ever since she had crouched down next to Chips, Krystle had slowly noticed something odd, not alarming, but mystifying in its own way. Ever since Herman had performed his Rekei treatment on her, back at the cabin, which seemed to have taken place hours ago, the pain from her car accident injuries had been relieved and tolerable, until now.

Unaccountably, she felt normal, or better than normal. Except for the overall eeriness she was experiencing, ever since leaving the store and stepping out into the trees, she felt exceptionally well. Her broken arm felt fine, her left side too, and her head did not hurt anymore. She touched each place, trying to be sly about it, but Herman noticed.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "Did the pain come back?"

His eyes were dark with worry, and Krystle felt embarrassed at being discovered touching herself. For some reason, she did not want to admit anything out loud yet, and she had to grope for something to say.

"No, really, I feel... well, I feel really embarrassed, you know? Running around like this, in this ridiculous hospital nightgown and with this dopey blanket over me."

"I see." Herman said. "That is easily dealt with, I do believe that I may have just the right thing for you both." He quickly ducked back into the hollowed out tree trunk, where his store should have been, and came back out with a cloak in each hand. They were of some type of iridescent fabric that changed hues when seen in different lights or from different angles.

"What else do you have in there?" Stacey's eyes lit up at the sight of the cloaks he bore and she bounced eagerly while he draped one over her shoulders, after shaking it out dramatically and making it flare in a circle before he placed on her. "Do you have any Galadhrim warrior bows in there, too?"

"There is no need for warrior weapons here," Herman said, chuckling. "Now please hold still." With his signature patience, he was finally able to attach the cloak around the spirited teenager's throat, all the while continuing to speak. "We do not have to defend this realm from an enemy, we have to protect it from greed and irresponsible behavior, and those attributes fit many different sorts of people, both good and evil."

"Oh, I love it!" Stacey squealed while she twisted back and forth to make the cloak spread out and twirl from side to side. Even in the gloomy light of the shady forest, the effect was enchanting as the fabric changed from soft gray to a hazy green in undulating waves.

"Be careful," Krystle warned. "You don't want to fall down any more holes."

Krystle stood still for Herman as he draped the other shimmering cloak over her, and pretended she had never heard Stacey mention how 'hot' he was. It was difficult to remember why she did not trust him when he was this close to her. Once the cloak was in place, she let the blanket drop off of her shoulders beneath it, and the feel of the glimmering fabric on her bare arms was just as delicious as the way it looked.

"Thank you, Her... Hirdaur," she said, relieved to be so well and beautifully covered.

The origins of such a name as Hirdaur eluded her, although it did sound possibly like it was Nordic, or perhaps Russian, or it could be Finnish, but she could never have explained why she thought that way. He could be from Texas, for all she knew. His light hair and dusky blue eyes seemed suited to such a name, however, and she felt more comfortable saying it now.

"These are elf cloaks," accused Stacey, a bit breathless. She had slipped a little on the wooden walkway, and then caught herself before falling, by putting down her bandaged foot. "Herman," she asked, "was that guy who you were talking to an elf?"

"Let me tell you about my friend..." he began, but got no further before being interrupted.

"Hey!" cried Stacey. "My foot doesn't hurt anymore. Neither do my hands." To prove it, she stomped her bandaged foot on the ground a few times, and waggled her fingers. "Is that normal?"

"Yes, of course, is to be expected," answered Herman. He turned his slate-colored eyes on Krystle. "Your pain is gone, too, yes?"

"You're right," sighed Krystle, wondering why she thought she had to keep it a secret. "I feel fine, better than fine. I don't even feel tired anymore."

"Did you put something in our muffins?" Stacey was busily unwrapping her hands. The burns had been on the backs of them, not severe, but the skin had been singed enough to warrant keeping them clean and dry. They were completely healed. "Was there some kind of magic in the water, maybe? Wait, that doesn't explain my foot."

"No, Stacey, there was no medicine in the water or the muffins, beyond the natural kind of healing properties that always exists in simple, good things."

"Then what's happened to us?" Krystle asked.

"Brace yourself," said Herman. "You are in a tale, now, you might say that you are fictional in character."

"Hirdaur, this is a real place, whether you want to call it New Middle-earth, or Green Grove, or," Krystle paused and made 'quote marks' with her fingers, "'The Hidden Valley of the Lost Giants', this is still a real place, right?"

"Middle-earth is not merely a place, Krystle. The closest I can come to helping you comprehend what I mean is to ask you to both think of this forest you see as part of a tale, a much larger tale, and we that live here know that we exist within that reality."

"We do?" Stacey was wide-eyed with wonder. "We are?" She had abandoned her crutches and was squatting down next to Chips. "Guess what, doggy?" she asked the animal. "You are living in a fairytale now."

"In a way, Stacey, you are correct." Herman knelt to join her next to Chips. "The three of you, however, are only visitors here, and your physical side-effects are temporary, I am sad to say. In truth, when I said 'we', I was referring to those of us who see this place as the true reality."

He stood and faced Krystle, before adding, almost sorrowfully, "We view your world as a temporary condition."

_To be continued _


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter nine**

"We are a temporary condition?" Krystle gasped out. Even though Herman had said a lot of crazy, or silly, things today, this last, about being considered a 'temporary condition', was scary to hear. And yet, this time she believed him, and it did not feel good. It was easier to cope with him on the other side of the tunnel, when she thought he was crazy, or a possible murderer, but what was she supposed to think now?

Stacey, on the other hand, did not appear to have heard his last comment. She was too busy examining her borrowed cloak, and stood still, holding each edge out at arms length, which made her look like a large flying squirrel. Then she hugged herself, wrapping the gray fabric around her body with a dramatic flourish, and resembled a sleek gray bat.

"Hey! I have wings!" Stacey exclaimed, as if she had read Krystle's thoughts. "If I'm fictional now, can I fly or anything?" Without waiting for a reply, she stood on a nearby fallen, rotten log, 'flapped' her cloak furiously, and shouted, "Up, up, and away!" as she jumped off and into the air to test her theory.

Luckily, she did not land on anything harder than the forest floor, which was cushioned with what must have been centuries-old layers of redwood needles. "Rats," she grumbled, tangled in her wings.

Herman laughed and shook his head at Stacey as he bent to help her stand. Chips seemed to think it was a neat trick, and licked at her face to be helpful.

"You are still a mortal maid," Herman told her, as he lifted her to her feet, brushed her cloak free of the clinging debris, and shooed Chips away. "Even fictional mortals do not often master the ability to defy gravity."

Krystle, however, was not amused by Stacey's antics. To her, the forest seemed gloomier, all of a sudden, and darker, as if all of the sunny spots had disappeared. Maybe a cloud cover had moved over them.

The shady trees that loomed directly overhead, ancient and yet frozen in time, seemed to close in on her, and take her breath away. Was it going to rain now, on top of everything else? What had ever made her believe that traveling through portals to visit Middle-earth would be fun?

"Who is that over there?" Stacey pointed to a small group of people, men and women, who seemed to have appeared out of thin air, and now stood silent and watchful nearby. They were uniformly tall and slender, their faces were passive and yet their eyes were bright and merry. Their clothes were quaint; the women wore long skirts, the men wore long blouses over leggings, with leather vests.

Herman's friend, the one who had jumped down out of the tree earlier, was with them. Chips barked at them, but in a friendly way. It was as if they were group of young Californians that had walked out of a Renaissance fair, only less flashy. They stood politely, regarding her with twinkling eyes, and the sky seemed a little more bright around them.

Something shifted, either inside of her, or around her, or maybe both at the same time, but Krystle was no longer reminded of a group of possible costumed play-actors; instead she felt as if she were the one on display and they were the audience. She was happy for the cloak that covered her skimpy clothes and wished she knew what her hair looked like. Nervously, she smoothed it behind her ears and hoped for the best. One thing she found comforting was that more than a few of them were bare-footed, too, just like she was.

Herman's friend waved at Krystle and Stacey, and then disappeared into the gaping hole in the same gigantic redwood that had once been a store called Middle Earth Collectibles. The others followed him inside. To Krystle, at least, the dreary forest seemed to grow gloomier, somehow, after the last silent figure disappeared from view.

"Look," said Stacey, as if no one else, besides her, was even paying attention. "All those people are going in the tree."

"That is my morning tour group," explained Herman. "My friend will be guiding them today, they love to visit Tolkien's garden at this time of year. Business will be good."

"That is what you were talking about in the tunnel," remarked Krystle, as a few remaining cobwebs were cleared from her overwrought mind. "When you said how they would love the way everything was overgrown back at the cabin, and messy?"

"They would not call it messy, they would call it natural, and free."

"Of course they would!" Stacey sputtered out, as if to think otherwise was outrageous, and she flapped her cloak 'wings' for emphasis. "They are elves, right? I know it, I'm right." She lifted her chin as if to challenge Herman or Krystle, which made the hood of her cloak slip off, and shouted, "Hey!" when a large drop of water from the tree overhead landed on her forehead, and dribbled down the tip of her nose.

It could not have hurt, but Stacey acted as if she had been shot, grabbing her forehead dramatically and staggering backwards. More drops were falling, still not as fast as a regular rain shower, but enough to indicate it was probably raining hard above the green protective canopy made by the redwoods. Herman laughed and held his hands out as if he welcomed the raindrops. Krystle lifted the hood of her own cloak farther over her head and groaned a little. She hated getting wet.

"What is it?" Herman, in his peculiar silent and swift way, had moved next to her. "Is there something wrong?" Krystle was surprised that he even noticed her state of mind. For a moment, she was tempted to blame the weather, but she could not. His dark slate eyes held her for a moment and she felt as if she could have said anything, anything at all, and he would have understood.

"When you said we were a temporary condition, were you saying that the people in my world are all going to die?" In her mind, she had been holding off grim visions of global destruction and death that was going to befall mankind. What if she was supposed to do something to stop it? Maybe she had been brought here, by forces larger than herself, to learn this very thing? Who would listen to her? Who would believe? Why her?

"Everybody does die, Krystle," said Stacey, no longer a flying rodent, now she was a philosopher. To Herman, she added, "Except for the elves, isn't that what you meant?"

"In a way, you are right, nurse," Herman answered. "All things that are alive in the world, either within this one or in yours, are..." he paused, as if seeking for just the right word. "Let us say 'impermanent'. Even these trees," he gestured around him at the redwoods, "which are among the oldest living creatures in either world, will someday be gone. They endure, but not forever. Currently, the mortals of your world are among the youngest species, and yet they stand on the threshold of their ultimate doom..."

"Doom!" Krystle cried out again, interrupting him, and not in the least reassured. "Now you're saying we're doomed? Why did I ever come to this gloomy place?" The idea of being the 'protectress of the earth' clamored in her heart.

"Krystle," said Herman. He reached out and touched her hand, just a gentle brush from his fingertips, but it calmed her. His smile was gone and he spoke more patiently than he had before, "please do not be afraid. In this instance, I used the word 'doom' to mean the natural course of events that will inevitably happen. Perhaps I should have said 'destiny'. In any event, I am sure we have a misunderstanding."

"But you said doom," Krystle pointed out. "All day long you kept saying things that didn't make sense, but then they did, or they came true. And it scares me now, to think about being a temporary condition that is doomed."

"When I said doom, I meant the still uncertain future as it is bound to happen," he said, so sincerely that she almost felt silly for having panicked. Until she thought about it.

"That doesn't make any sense at all."

"You also said that everything that's alive is impermanent," contributed Stacey."But aren't the elves immortal?"

"Oh dear, I see that our conversation is leading us all into a maze." Herman drew them directly under the branches of the large redwood, which the tour group had disappeared into, to avoid the rain. "Let me try to explain it to you this way," he continued. "Humans are no more doomed to die than anything else that is alive, but humans are not my concern. I foresee no immediate disastrous occurrence in store for mankind. You are safe, here and there. Only here, you are in a tale that is larger than yourself. Stop worrying for a moment, and smell the air around you. Listen to the trees."

The waterlogged upper branches were being increasingly buffeted by wind and were shedding water faster now. The trees were swaying slightly. There must be a rising storm in their tops, and Krystle could hear the trees 'speaking' in their rustling way that did seem to rise and fall as if it were caused by the voices of a group of whispering people. The air smelled different as it grew wetter all around them, earthy and rich and damp.

"These magnificent trees are now a part of a new tale, one that is told by firelight as well as electric light." Herman smiled. "Whether written in a story, or a poem, or a song, they will live forever, or for as long as their tale is told."

"What tale is that?" Stacey asked, her voice an awed whisper. "Does it have a name?"

"Not one name, really," answered Herman. "But it is surely a tale that you have both heard told before you came here today." His voice grew deeper, and dreamy. "We are now in a tale of the great ancient redwoods that once covered the land along the Pacific Ocean for many leagues, and that tale will be told long after the last of their kind are gone. The tale will grow larger then, of how big they were, how they loved the fog and damp, how they housed many diverse creatures, and as long as their tale is told, then we will be here, in the tale, to preserve them."

Above their heads, a gust of wind whipped collected water off of the redwood branches in scattered showers. The whispering murmurs that Krystle heard had a damp sound. And for a moment, she thought she could hear the trees talking, or at least she could tell that they were speaking some kind of language, to one another. It was the same way she thought birds spoke to each other when they sang; maybe there were no words, exactly, but some type of message was being passed along.

"Why are there no mallorn trees here?" asked Stacey. "Like in the movie?"

"In old Middle-earth, without the elves to preserve them, the mellyrn did not even survive long in Lorien. After the elves sailed West, the mellyrn eventually withered and died."

Although Krystle listened to Herman, or Hirdaur, or whoever he was, but she was starting to like him more as Hirdaur, as he was explaining about the mellyrn to Stacey, she did so with only half an ear. All around her, now that she fancied that she could hear them speaking, she realized, or felt, that the trees were having a regular conversation.

The sounds the wind made among their needled branches rose and fell in a circular motion through the trees that surrounded them. The roaring sound would start near where they stood and then travel through the trees before seeming to come back around each time. The entire forest was in motion now, where as before it had been too still.

"We who live inside the domain of our tale," Hirdaur was saying, "stand outside of your time, and terms such as mortal or immortal are not as important to us. We preserve what is valuable." Krystle had no idea what he was referring to, she had been paying more attention to the redwoods speaking to one another, and she tuned out again from him and Stacey. It was almost as if she felt compelled to listen to the trees, and to try and understand them.

She wished it was sunny again, because the forest had almost looked pretty then, but the wind-driven sounds were fascinating to her. Why had she never noticed the language of trees before today, or paid attention? Of course, she told herself, with another sigh of inner relief, these redwoods were in a tale, and were more like fairy tale characters. They would have to be different, somehow, than normal trees in the real world.

Chips happily tagged along beside Stacey now as she tried out her pain-free feet on the wooden walkway, her crutches long forgotten and discarded. Krystle was happy for that, as the forest was beginning to be quite wet now, from the rain. The boards of the sidewalk were damp and probably slippery for crutching.

Even close to the base of the trees, the rain kept finding its way down. The ceaselessly dripping weather prodded her and Krystle finally got up the nerve to enter into the tree, which used to be a store. The hollowed out area inside of the massive trunk was as large inside as the building had been, except that it was rounded. Another opening on the opposite wall led right back out into the forest. There was an identical wooden walkway, just outside that other door. She drew closer to the opening until she could see out of it, the forest was not as thick out this opening, and the clouds were breaking up.

Hirdaur and Stacey joined her there; the latter was noisily impressed with how 'huge' the hollowed out part of the tree was inside. Krystle waited until they were next to her, looking out the other side of the tree, and then she pointed to the walkway outside.

"Where does that sidewalk go to?" There seemed to be less redwoods out this doorway, and more firs, it was more like the forest that she had seen the night before.

"The walkway leads to a bridge," Hirdaur pointed in the direction the clinic would be in, if Green Grove still existed and the tree they stood inside of was still a store. "If you cross over that bridge, you will return to your world."

"All we have to do to get back is cross the river?" Krystle nearly collapsed with relief to hear it. She was closer to home than she had imagined. A weight lifted from her, the last weight it seemed, and she felt her spirits lifting.

"It's a magical bridge, isn't it?" asked Stacey. "I said it was. I don't think Krystle believed me, but I knew it was."

"You were right, Stacey," said Krystle, smiling at her teenage companion for the first time in hours. "I should have listened to you, but I think I remember feeling something, too." It seemed days ago now, when they had crossed that bridge and she had to check the stars to make sure she was still in the real world.

"Was that a magic river?" Stacey asked. "Or is the bridge magical?"

"Neither," said Hirdaur, clearly sorry to have to say it. He added, "The bridge out that door is not exactly the same bridge that the two of you crossed to get into the village this morning, it is more a mythical type of bridge. There is only one way in and one way out, the tunnel brings you here, and the bridge takes you back to Green Grove."

"That seems complicated," said Stacey.

"The best tales often are," he pointed out. Krystle left them to work it out, she no longer cared for explanations, and went back to the first door.

"What if we follow the sidewalk back out the other way? Back into the Middle-earth forest." Krystle pointed back out at the wooden walkway that disappeared into the redwoods that were in the tale. Hirdaur was next to her.

"That way leads to my home," he said, and the idea, or possibly just the way he said it, sent a thrill through her that she tried to pass off as a chill from the breeze that blew into the doorway. He added, "Would you like to see it?" She could not blame the breeze a second time and she bit her lip before answering him.

Before she had seen how close her possible escape route was, Krystle probably would have said 'no' immediately, without thinking. Now she felt differently, she felt almost giddy. There was no reason to rush back the clinic, if everything that Hirdaur had said about time standing still on the other side was true.

If they really were in some kind of fictional tale, and she had no more reasons left to doubt Hirdaur, then Stacey's parents were still sleeping. The nurses at the clinic were probably very happy to have Krystle and the teenager out of their hair. If they were not in a tale, and this strange man had managed to trick them into believing it, they were probably no worse off coming home hours later than right now. Jail would still be jail, no matter how late they were to return.

"How far away do you live?"

"Not far, and I think you will like it better than the dripping forest. It is warm there, and dry, and Chips is more than welcome. Would you like to go there now?"

"I do!" shouted Stacey, out the door and running ahead as usual, Chips in hot pursuit. Hirdaur called after her to stay on the walkway and wait for him when she reached the first clearing. There was no way to tell if she heard him, but he did not seem alarmed. Then he offered Krystle his elbow courteously and she slipped her hand around his arm before she could think about it. They followed Stacey into the forest.

After learning that she probably had not felt anything magical when she crossed the bridge, and after blurting out that she thought she had, Krystle was not so eager to say anything else ridiculous. But the trees were nearly in an uproar now, she felt, or sensed, or heard.

"Are the trees talking to each other right now?" she asked. "Or is it just my imagination running away with me?"

"It is not your imagination," said Hirdaur. "They are speaking."

"What do they say?" The walkway was easier to follow than she had feared. It led through the drippy forest in a nearly straight line, only curving to avoid a tree trunk here and there.

"At first, they were lamenting that you were not happy being here." He spoke with a wistful tone, and Krystle was brought up short to realize that the trees had been observing her, and had noticed her mood. "It was making them feel sad that you did not enjoy being in their forest."

"Their forest is okay," she admitted, and she smiled up at the waving wet branches to show she had no hard feelings. Now that she knew she was not being foolish by thinking that the trees were speaking, she found herself almost eager to make amends. "It's this wet weather that I don't like"

"The wet weather is what keeps these trees alive and green," he explained. "They would not understand your discomfort because they revel in the dampness."

"What are they saying now?"

"Now they are happier that you are finally listening to them." Hirdaur stopped and they both stood still. He smiled down at her, his eyes had that sparkling light she had seen earlier, and added, "They think you have a beautiful smile, and so do I."

_To be concluded _


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter ten**

Krystle's cheeks felt hot after Hirdaur complimented her smile, and she had to look away from him for a moment, if only to catch her breath.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Will you please tell the trees 'thank you', too."

"Tell them yourself, they will hear you." They were walking again, and she heard a bird chirping, and then another one answered it, a cheerful sound.

"Thank you," Krystle said out loud, while smiling and staring up at the trees. "And I'm sorry if I looked unhappy to be here, really, I'm not. You have, or, I should say, you are a beautiful forest." She stood still and waited for a response, and worried. Had she said the right thing?

"Did they understand me?" she asked. More birds were chirping, as if they had been waiting for some type of signal to start talking to each other again, and had a lot of lost time to make up for.

"The forest understood you perfectly," Hirdaur answered, and he tugged at her to move along again.

The trees' voices were quiet, the strong wind had calmed, but Krystle did hear something, besides the birds. It came and went, a barely-there sound, more like music than conversation, very faint. Were the redwoods singing? She was willing to believe almost anything at this point.

Around them, the dark gloom was lifting, and the pattering drips slowed down. The rain clouds must have passed, and to prove it, sunny spots appeared again, fingers of light stabbing down into the forest. Steam from the damp forest floor rose in the golden shafts.

The giant redwoods and ferns that lined the path were thinning out, too, and there were other types of trees, and a variety of bushes and berry vines, growing along the way. Krystle could still hear the music, but she no longer thought it was made by the redwoods, or any other trees. The faint, almost meandering sound was coming from ahead of them, and the forest was coming to an end.

Stacey and Chips were waiting in a clearing, as still as statues with their backs turned to Krystle, in a sunny meadow with rising wisps of mist, which was surrounded by the forest. And then Krystle stood still, stunned, when she reached them and saw the structure, a small log cabin, which was standing there, against the farthest stand of trees.

No wonder Stacey was so still; it was possible that she was in shock.

Was there some kind of gigantic joke being played on them all? Had they ever left Green Grove? Krystle muttered darkly and shook her head. She turned to accuse Hirdaur of fraud, but something made her stop and take a better look, first, and she stepped closer.

Before her stood a perfect replica, down to the last detail, even to the little shed in front, of Tolkien's cabin in Green Grove. On closer inspection, she could tell it was not the same cabin, as she had first suspected, and she stopped feeling tricked. This cabin was nearly new, or had been preserved in a much better way compared to the one that she and Stacey had visited, all those hours ago, and it was utterly charming.

The music was coming from inside of it. The windows' curtains were drawn back, and the door stood propped open, so she could see that the interior was empty. Empty of musicians or anyone, and anything, else. She could see no furniture. Stacey came and stood next to her, surprisingly quiet, perhaps the sight of the Green Grove cabin really had unnerved her, too? She tugged at Krystle's cloak.

"Do you hear that music?"

"There must be a radio inside," Krystle said. "Or a stereo." It seemed out of place in this fairy tale world for there to be mechanical music, but there it was, she heard an orchestra, and it had to come from something.

"Hirdaur, where is that music coming from?" asked Krystle. She looked around but did not see him, "Where did he go?" she asked Stacey, who shrugged. Chips did not seem too concerned, and the dog usually whined if Hirdaur left their sight. Was he hiding nearby?

She and Stacey moved closer to the cabin, up to the gate. The music was enchanting, stringed instruments and flutes, it sounded like. The tune was not one that Krystle recognized. She peered back into the deep green shade of the trees they had just walked out of, and she was surprised to find that she missed being inside of the dim shadowy forest.

Here, out in the open, she felt exposed, and almost vulnerable. There was nothing around that appeared threatening and the sunshine was nice. Despite that, and the chirping birds, for some reason it felt eerier for Krystle to find herself standing in front of Tolkien's cabin, again, than it had felt to be talked to by redwood trees.

They waited beside the gate; Krystle would not allow Stacey to open it and enter the yard without their host along, and an invitation. As they stood there, silently scanning the clearing around them, more questions swirled through Krystle's mind. Had Hirdaur disappeared for a reason? Why had he left them here to wander about on their own? Did he expect them to explore the cabin without him?

"Let's go on in," suggested Stacey. "This is getting boring just standing around out here." The music had changed, it was faster now, merrier, like a song one would dance to at a party. The teenager was holding onto the gate and dancing in place, her hind end moving in time with the bouncy tune.

"Not yet," said Krystle. Something about the whole situation felt imposed on her, as if she was meant to react to what she saw in a certain way, and she resisted against the idea of being on display for someone else's amusement.

"Why not?"

"Well, what if this is a test?" asked Krystle. Stacey did not seem too concerned with the idea, she was varying her dance and watching her feet as she did a sort of modified jig, still holding the gate to keep her balance.

"What kind of test?" she said.

"Oh, I don't know." Krystle scanned the clearing again, still no Hirdaur to be seen. "Maybe a fairy tale kind of test, I guess. Like we're getting another chance to do the right thing, and not go into the cabin without permission this time. Don't you feel like we're being watched?"

It occurred to Krystle that Stacey had ran ahead and not heard her conversation with Hirdaur about the trees, earlier, which was probably all for the best. If the teenager found out that she could have an audience of stationary, and mostly silent, listeners to chatter at, she would have possibly never left the forest.

"No, I don't feel like I'm being watched," said Stacey, although she did abruptly stop wagging her hips in time with the music. "Who do you think is watching us? I don't see anyone around here."

Despite her misgivings over having a lot of explaining to do, Krystle had to tell Stacey who their witnesses might be.

"The trees," she said and she pointed at the stand of redwoods behind them.

"Why would they care?" asked Stacey, unimpressed. "They probably wish they could go inside of places, if they didn't have roots." As she spoke, she let go of the gate and turned to look around at the forest of possible witnesses Krystle was pointing toward. After her last word, there was a slight creaking sound, and they both turned back to see the gate swing open on its own.

"Isn't that a sign?" Stacey walked through the gate without waiting for Krystle to reply. She went up to the front porch, turned around, and came back to the gate. "See, I'm fine. I don't think it's a crime to walk into someone's yard, if their gate is wide open."

"We should wait," said Krystle again, but with less conviction. The opened gate had not changed her mind, it could be another step in the test. To be able to resist going through it might be the point. If there was a point. She stared at the cabin; from the angle she stood at, the interior revealed by the opened door was in shadow.

"Well, think about it," argued Stacey. "If you were coming here to visit, wouldn't you come in the gate and then go knock on the door?"

"Yes, but..."

"We could just go up to the doorway and peek in."

"That is exactly what you said this morning," said Krystle."Remember? One quick peek?"

"How about if we hold hands and go up to the door together?" Stacey held out her hand and Krystle could not resist the offer. If she could physically restrain the wild teenager from entering and destroying another cabin, then it might be alright to just take a quick glance inside the door. As they drew nearer, she tried to see in the windows, but the shade from the porch roof made them opaque.

They approached the porch cautiously and were just about to step foot on it when a clanging sound made them turn around. The gate had closed itself.

"Whoa, what do you think that means?" whispered Stacey.

"That means," said a familiar voice from inside the cabin, "it is time to come in and join the party." They whirled back around, gasping in unison when they saw who was standing in the doorway.

"Herman!" shouted Stacey. "Hirdaur!" shouted Krystle. "How did you do that?" they asked together.

"I had to tidy up the place, first, before I could let you see it," he explained, grinning. With one of his famous courtly bows, he gestured for them to enter. The music was louder and it seemed to swell now to a crescendo as they walked across the porch, still hand in hand, and stepped in the door.

For Krystle, it seemed as if the interior of the cabin that was visible through the open door had grown darker the closer they came to it, and when she walked inside, it seemed as if she was walking into a windowless cave instead of the same cheery room she had been in before. There was a breeze blowing in her face, and the music came from somewhere very close. She could not see a thing.

"What happened to the lights?" asked Stacey. Even as she was speaking, there was a flash of red flame that startled both of them, and Hirdaur was holding a torch in his hand, and he was standing right next to them.

"Welcome to my home, follow me," he said, and then he waved the flaming brand up in the air to show them where they were, and it was not inside of a cabin. The walls were made of stone, it looked like, and not with carefully placed blocks like in the wine cellar, this place seemed carved right into the rock, instead of built with it.

"Wowsers," said Stacey, "How did we get in here?" They followed Hirdaur as he led them forward with his torch. Not that they had any choice, Krystle discovered, for behind them was darkness, no doorway back out. It raised the hair on the back of her neck when she turned to see, and she turned back and hurried to keep up with the flickering light.

"Where are we now?" Krystle asked, staring all around her in amazement. "Are we back in the tunnels? How...?" She stopped short; they had turned a sharp corner, and before them stood an arched doorway to an enormous hall.

Her eyes were dazzled by the brightly lit place, in comparison to the dark entry way. The hall had dozens of torches hanging on the enormous walls. Some of the torches were placed near large, convex mirrors, which reflected their flames in multitudes of identical golden-red bursts of light. In the center of the hall was a large, long banquet table, bedecked with candles, fruit, and fall flowers,

At the farthest end of the table stood a man, a very handsome man, with coppery hair and a curious headpiece. It was a complete circle of leaves and red berries on his head. He raised a goblet in Krystle and Stacey's direction, nodded his head at them, as if in greeting, and then sat down in the over-sized dining chair placed there.

As soon as he was seated, he nodded toward the musicians, and they played a song that had a brisk tempo that felt almost military. The music had stopped earlier, when they had entered the cabin door, but Krystle did not even realize it until the musicians, a small group seated in a roped-off performance area to the side of the entrance, began to play again.

As if on signal, two lines of people marched into the room in time to the music, one line entering from behind tapestries hung in each far corner, and they were bearing trays laden with every type of wonderful, delicious thing to eat and drink that could ever be imagined. They sat the trays on the table and then sat down in a chair, each one after the next, so that the table was filled with food by the very people who would be eating it.

The dishes were sent around the table, from hand to hand, along with pots of tea and pitchers filled with water, as well. Every place setting had a goblet filled with ruby red fluid that seemed to glow. The music did not slow and the platters and trays were marched along around the table to the same beat. Stacey and Krystle were seated in the middle of the table, next to each other, Chips sat on the floor between them, beneath the table. They were bewildered by the wide variety of choices that passed into and out of their hands almost before they could decide what to eat.

While Stacey sat, she bounced in time to the marching song, and Krystle laughed at her expressions when she chose her food, she took a little bit of almost everything, until her plate was too full. For herself, Krystle chose what seemed the most familiar, and safest to eat, which was still quite a lot.

The whole process was so dizzying that there was no time for Krystle to think about what was happening. Finally, everyone's plate was full, the hall grew quiet, and the music stopped. Hirdaur took his place, which was at the end of the long table opposite to the tall man with the funny headpiece.

At that moment, Krystle's head stopped spinning long enough, and she realized that she was at a feast. Everyone seated around her and Stacey were seemingly oblivious of their presence, however, and all eyes were turned to the far end of the table. The hall grew silent.

The man with the leaf and berry crown stood up again, he gestured at the crowd to remain seated, and she could not take her eyes off of him. He bore a strong resemblance to Hirdaur, except that he seemed to be in a higher position of authority and stature. There was something extraordinarily regal about him, even though he wore the same quaint, rustic clothes as the rest of the people in the hall, a simple tunic over leggings, except that his clothes had a velvety texture.

At the other end of the table was Hirdaur. He had changed his clothes, while he was out of their sight, and now wore a sleeveless tunic over a satin shirt. It was hard to say what color their clothes were because the torches cast a reddish-orange glow on everything. With a start, Krystle realized that Hirdaur's hair was the same copper shade in the torches' glow as of that of the the man with the leaf crown.

"What are you doing?" Stacey stage-whispered to her. It was not until she was asked that Krystle realized she was whipping her head back and forth, as she turned her attention from one end of the table to the other, and comparing the features of the two men standing at either end. She stopped, but there was no time to answer the question; the regal gentleman, who looked like Hirdaur, raised his goblet, and so did everyone else at the table, and so did Krystle and Stacey.

"Mae gevennin na vereth nín, hiril reviol." He tipped his goblet and drank.

"What did he say?" asked Stacey, whispering.

"I have no idea," said Krystle.

"I think he was speaking French," Stacey decided, but Krystle was pretty sure that he was not.

They both turned toward Hirdaur, who raised his own glass to them with a smile. He was too far away to ask him anything without having to shout it. Everyone around them was drinking from their goblets, and Krystle took a sip from hers. It was wine! Very delicious, too, and she normally did not like the taste of it.

As if he had been waiting for her to drink, the leaf-crowned man sat down, Hirdaur sat, and everyone began to eat, there was a low murmur of conversation.

"Do you think we were supposed to say something in response?" Krystle asked Stacey. She was afraid of doing the wrong thing, even if she had no idea where she was and why she was here. Stacey shrugged, licking the wine from her lips after sipping it, and making a face.

"How should I know?" she said, and then tried her wine again, as if to see if it still tasted the same the second time around. "How can people drink this stuff?"

It took a moment for her words to sink in, and then Krystle grabbed the goblet away, before Stacey could try any of it again. "You're not old enough to drink!"

"Hey!" Stacey exclaimed.

"I mean it, it's bad enough that I let you drag me into Green Grove and get us into that tunnel, but if you drink alcohol and your parents find out, I could go to jail for life!" Krystle could tell that Stacey was not paying attention, she was leaning forward and looking down the table. She thought the teenager was examining the man with the leaf crown.

"Do you think he is related to Hirdaur?" Krystle asked. "They look so much alike."

"Hey!" Stacey said again, but with a gleefully excited expression on her face, like she had just won something valuable. " I know who that is!" she said, "I read about him in The Hob..." Before she could say another word, Hirdaur interrupted her. He was suddenly standing behind them, tapping Stacey's shoulder, and Krystle's, too

"Stacey," he said quietly, " please do not say another word about it, I am not in that particular tale..."

"But, if I'm right," said Stacey, and she turned to the bewildered Krystle, pointed at her, and added, "and I know I'm right," and then turned back to Hirdaur, saying, "If 'he' is who I think he is, then that means that you are..."

"Please, call me Hirdaur, that is my name, now, it was chosen for the tale that I live in these days."

"What are you two talking about?" Krystle asked, confused.

"Is he your father?" asked Stacey, pointing at the leaf-crowned man.

"Yes, you guessed right, but you always do," Hirdaur answered softly, and almost sadly. "Now, enough about names, mine or anyone else's, please eat and drink."

He paused, and handed Krystle her goblet. He smiled when she sipped it, and continued, "Now enjoy yourselves, and have no cares about what lies outside these stone walls." Almost so swiftly that she was not sure it really happened, he bent down and kissed Krystle on the cheek.

He left them there and returned to his seat at the other end of the table before Krystle could ask him to translate what his father had said. She put her hand on her face where he had kissed her, and sipped some more of the wine, it truly was delicious.

She turned to Stacey, to try to get some answers, but when she started to speak, she giggled instead. Shocked at herself, she covered her mouth and glanced at the other people at the table to see if anyone noticed. Everyone seemed too busy eating and drinking to be paying attention. Without warning, she giggled again, only this time she could not stop, and had to put her napkin over her mouth.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Stacey. Krystle tried to answer, but as soon as she calmed herself down enough to speak, she started to giggle even harder, until tears came into her eyes. "It must be the wine," said Stacey, and before Krystle could stop her, although she probably could not have with both hands now in use to cover her traitorously mirthful mouth, the teen had grabbed back her own goblet and started gulping it.

Instead of feeling angry, however, Krystle was so amused that she laughed out loud, no more giggles. Stacey lowered her goblet, and she had a dark red mustache. Krystle thought she would stop breathing, the sight of it made her laugh so hard. Stacey was giggling now, too.

"Stop it," she told Krystle. "Have some more," she added, while handing Krystle another goblet.

"Don't min' if I do," said Krystle, and then she laughed at herself for saying it, slopping wine on herself. Stacey, leaning back to laugh now, and holding her stomach, was slowly sliding off of her chair. She was a blur through Krystle's watery eyes. And then everything was a blur, a spinning blur.

She thought she was going to be sick.

* * *

"Wake up, dear. The doc says your free to go." 

"I'm awake," said Krystle, and she moved to prove it. Pain instantly shot down her left side, her arm throbbed. She struggled to sit, pushing her hair out of her face, and tried to focus through bleary eyes at the figure standing in front of her. "Where am I? Oh, my head."

"That pain shot really knocked you out, huh?" It was Netty speaking. Krystle was back at the clinic.

"What shot?"

"It says right here," Netty answered, pointing at a clipboard she was holding, "You were given pain meds," she stopped, then said, "No, wait, it says a shot was ordered, but it doesn't say when it was given. Hmm. Let me go check at the desk, maybe she wrote it down there."

Holding her aching head, Krystle watched Netty leave in disbelief. She knew she had not been dreaming, that was for sure. Or had she been? Did she get some kind of shot that knocked her out so hard that she did not remember it? Would narcotics give her such a crazy dream?

The curtain between her and Stacey's bed was drawn, so Krystle had to get out of bed, her whole body protesting, to see her. Something heavy, warm, and furry brushed against her leg and she squeaked; it was Chips! The dog still wore the funny little rope leash on her neck. It was not a dream, after all! Then she remembered that the ambulance driver had put the rope on Chips, it happened before they crossed the bridge.

"Stacey," she whispered. The teenager was sound asleep, mouth open, her bandaged hands were lying outside the blanket. She shook the bed. "Stacey, wake up."

"Her parents just came," said Netty, entering from the other side of the curtain. She let out a yelp of alarm when she saw Chips. "How did that dog get in here?"

"She's my dog," Krystle explained as she grabbed the leash. "I... I don't know how she got in. I'll take her outside and tie her up."

"The night shift drives me crazy," said Netty, shaking her head. "I don't know what goes on around here. Now I smell wine." She clucked her tongue and pointed at Stacey. "Okay, well looks like she is awake. I will go get her parents if you'll take the dog over to the other side of the curtain." She left, but Krystle hesitated.

"How did I get here?" Stacey was sitting up now, bewildered, and she stared at her hands. "Ow," she added, and then, mournfully, "What happened to the party?"

"You dreamed about a party, too?"

"It wasn't a dream," Stacey answered crabbily. "You were there, you should know."

"Your parents are here."

"That's just great." Stacey was wiping her eyes with the tips of her fingers. "I think I have a hangover."

"Hirdaur and the others must have brought us back and put us in bed," said Krystle. "You have new bandages on your hands."

"I guess he was right," Stacey replied, awed. "No one will ever know we were even gone."

"No one will know that you were gone, you mean, because I doubt anyone would have noticed that I was missing." Krystle could hear people approaching, and she tugged at Chips' leash. "I am going to take her outside," she whispered to Stacey, while slipping around the curtain. "If I don't see you again, it was fun. Wish me luck."

"You're going back there! Not without me!" Stacey threw back her covers, but it was too late, her parents were there and Krystle hurried to leave.

It was hard to run when her whole left side was in pain, and her broken arm was being jolted by each step she took, so Krystle held it at her elbow. She had to let Chips loose and the happy dog ran ahead of her, over the bridge.

She kept running, however, despite the pain, and despite the stares she got from the people in Green Grove when they watched her go by. It was worth it, because Hirdaur was standing there, on the front porch of Tolkien's cabin, waiting for her. His arms were opened wide.

The end

_Sindarin translations: _

_Hirdaur means 'forest master'__  
"Mae gevennin na vereth nín, hiril reviol." means 'Well met at my feast, wandering ladies.' _

_A/N: As for the identity of the "man" with the leaf and berry crown, anyone who has read The Hobbit should know who that elf is. _


End file.
